


An RPG of Ice and Fire

by Momeratz_Autgraeb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dragons, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Magic, Multi, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momeratz_Autgraeb/pseuds/Momeratz_Autgraeb
Summary: A recently deceased soul finds, to his surprise, that he is invited to play a very special game. He embarks on life as Viserys Targaryen, armed with knowledge of canon, Gamer powers, and a dirty imagination. Watch what hijinks he'll get up to, as he takes first Essos and then the world by storm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Right, so this is basically a really bad idea that wouldn't stop bugging me until I gave it my college best. My first work on this site, hope you all enjoy!

Well now… so this is Death.

It’s very dull. Formless, endless darkness. That’s it. Nothing to do but float senselessly in oblivion for all eternity.

I do not see my sanity lasting much longer under the crushing weight of sheer boredom.

At least I got some perspective on my life. Nothing to do here but go through memories. Man, I was an ungrateful little shit. I feel sorry for my poor family. Hope the sight of my body hadn’t been too traumatizing.

Really, we’d all seen it coming. Only a matter of time until I drank myself to death. And now here I was.

[New Game]

Eh? What’s this?

As I focused on the floating words, they vanished and were replaced.

Welcome to [An RPG of Ice and Fire]. Please select your character:

What followed was a long list of vaguely familiar names from one of my favorite franchises.

Huh, guess I’d already cracked. Now I’m hallucinating I’m in one of those dumbass, blatant wish fulfillment self-insert fanfictions. I can’t help but love them, though. Every nerd’s fantasy, life as a video game AND life in a fictional world.

Let’s play along. Nothing better to do.

I scroll through the options.

[Eddard Stark]

Nah. Couldn’t possibly do him justice.

[Melisandre]

Interesting, but I’m not up for being a gazillion years old, even if it comes with spooky fire god powers and illusional youth.

[Joffrey Baratheon (Waters)]

[Joffrey Baratheon (Legitimate)]

Huh. Two versions of the same character. Throw in possible Alternate Universe to this coma dream second life.

[Daenerys Targaryen]

[Viserys Targaryen]

Ah, my favorite part of the first book. A break from the politics and intrigue for the coming-of-age saga of sweet Dany. I’d always shipped her and Drogo, shame he died even if it was sort of crucial to her character development. And I’d always felt sad for Viserys. Product of incest plus traumatic childhood, no wonder he was bonkers. Didn’t excuse him, but still.

Well, why not try and redeem the Beggar King?

I selected Viserys.

Are you [Male] or [Female]?

Seriously? How is that an option? They kept the original names!

Male. Duh.

Select your [S.P.E.C.I.A.L.] stats:

Strength: - 5 +

Perception: - 5 +

Endurance: - 5 +

Charisma: - 5 +

Intelligence: - 5 +

Agility: - 5 +

Luck: - 5 +

Points: 5

[Strength] measures how physically powerful you are, how much you can lift and how hard you can punch.

[Perception] measures how keen your senses are, how much you notice about your environment and how accurate your aim is.

[Endurance] measures toughness, how much health you have and how much damage you take from attacks when they land.

[Charisma] measures likeability, how well you relate to people and them to you, affecting almost all interpersonal interactions.

[Intelligence] measures mental acuity, how fast you learn and solve problems as well as how accurate your memory is. 

[Agility] measures ease of movement, how flexible you are and how quick you can run.

[Luck] measures how the universe feels about you, how likely you are to win games of chance and how often random events will occur, whether positive or negative.

During the course of the game, actions you attempt will be checked against your [S.P.E.C.I.A.L.] stats. Whether you succeed, or fail will depend on your stats. Keep in mind that your stats will scale with your level; checks for the same action will decrease the higher your level. Some actions will be impossible even at max stats and level. In these cases, the check shall come back [Success Not Possible].

You begin with 40 points at Level 0. You shall receive 1 [S.P.E.C.I.A.L.] point each level until you reach the level cap of 30. Choose wisely.

Huh. Distinctly Fallout-like UI. Maybe the Powers That Be are Bethesda fans, assuming this is legit and not the product of my own madness.

I immediately max out Endurance. If I really do end up in the savage world of Planetos, I want to be as unkillable as possible. I ponder the rest. I’ve always been a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy in these games. Then again, that was as the faceless protagonist.

After some consideration, I looked over my selected stats.

Strength: 4

Perception: 4

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 9

Intelligence: 5

Agility: 4

Luck: 4

I’d max out Charisma with my first level. I’d always stuck by Captain Sparrow’s view of “why fight when you can negotiate?”. Probably best to be able to bend the minds of others when I’m royalty and all. I’d max out Intelligence after, because why NOT be smart as possible? I’d cycle through the rest until they were all 10 after that. Unless of course something happened in-game to make me reconsider.

Confirm your character:

Viserys Targaryen (Male)

Level 0

Strength: 4

Perception: 4

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 9

Intelligence: 5

Agility: 4

Luck: 4

Ready to play? [Y/N]

Here goes nothing.

I distinctly thought ‘yes’.

XXXXXXX

There is a REASON the human mind doesn’t remember anything before the age of three. The weakness, the soiling, the hunger, the sheer helplessness. Infancy sucks when you’re fully cognizant. And breastfeeding from a tit the size of your head is NOT as fun as you would think. I can only thank the gods (and aren’t I just spoiled for choice on that front) I spent half the time asleep.

Anyway, yeah, I’m really Viserys Targaryen, Third of his Name, Heir of Dragonstone. And until Rhaegar and Elia have little Aegon, I’m second-in-line to the throne. 

So far as I can tell, I’m the only one that can see the game screens or hear the notifications. No Pip-Boy or little black book, just all in my head. Hopefully my habit of staring into ‘empty’ space doesn’t bother anyone. For good measure, I’d found the ‘options’ in the game menu and made it so I only got alerted for missions and when I leveled up. I didn’t need to get bombarded with Stat and Skill checks every time I crawl or build a tower of blocks.

Skills were another facet of the game and were frankly broken. I had 18 in total, each Stat except Luck giving a bonus to three. I’d worked out from the two times I leveled that the amount of Skill points I got was equal to my Intelligence multiplied by the level I turned. I’d done the math, and I’d worked out that I could max out them all so long as I had an Intelligence of at least 4. If I’d maxed out Intelligence from the start, I’d be literally perfect as possible at all 18 by Level 19. I wondered if I’d get anything from extra points afterwards, but there’s really no way to guess until I get there. RPGs are kind of arbitrary like that.

In case you were wondering, the skills were:

Bladed Weapons (STR)

Blunt Weapons (STR)

Unarmed (STR)

Ranged Weapons (PER)

Observation (PER)

Survival (PER)

Stamina (END)

Pain Tolerance (END)

Immunity (END)

Speech (CHA)

Barter (CHA)

Animal Training (CHA)

Science (INT)

Magic (INT)

Crafting (INT)

Evasion (AGI)

Sneak (AGI)

Riding (AGI)

Magic had been locked, greyed-out and at zero when I’d first checked the Skill List. Then I’d managed to scrape enough EXP from passing childhood milestones to reach Level 2. And that’s when the game introduced me to Perks. I repeat, Fallout vibes with this game thing.

Perks were special powers that expanded or unlocked my potential. Most had conditions to take them, such as a Stat or Skill prerequisite. There were 150 to choose from, but I only got 1 Perk point every two levels. If the cap was really 30, I’d only get my hands on a tenth of them. Unless there were collectibles in the great wide world or special missions that offered them as rewards.

Missions were kind of self-explanatory. When I planned to do something or was offered some task, most of the time it generated a Mission. I’d get a reward, usually precious EXP, for success and a penalty for failure. Luckily, I had yet to take a mission where failure meant death, but I’m sure I would at some point. This was Westeros after all, and unless I threw a major wrench into canon I’d end up in Essos too.

My first Perk practically chose itself. The obsessive-compulsive nerd I’d been before I’d devolved into a terminal drunk wanted to work out a progression chart after hours of deep contemplation on all the options. But the moment I read it, I knew that I had to have it.

[Blood of the Dragon]: The blood and fire magic of Valyria is strong in you. Unlocks Magic Skill, immunity to fire and heat damage, +25 to Animal Training with dragons. Requirement: Valyrian ancestry, [Endurance]: 4, [Intelligence]: 4.

My adult mind gave me a bit of a buffer against the propaganda inherent to my rearing, but some had sunk in. I was Targaryen, descended from Aegon the Conqueror, of the blood of Old Valyria. Like hell I would pass at the chance to be fireproof or an improved chance to bond if/when I hatched a dragon.

Life was good for now. I spent most of my time just having fun, enjoying what I could of being a child. I WAS a completionist though, so as soon as I could walk and talk reliably I started doing every mission I could find. I got quite the reputation for doing helpful tasks around the castle and faithfully attending lessons with the Maester or Septa.

My new family took some getting used to. My new dad was as crazy as the books made him out to be, though it wasn’t quite unmanageable at this point. Mother was a sweet woman, but she always carried herself with stiffness, as if hiding pain or injury. Rhaegar was a wonderful big brother, always making time for me and singing me songs. When he married Elia (the first time I’d been allowed to be seen outside the Red Keep), she became the big sister I never had.

It was a very long, very pleasant tutorial.

And then the Tournament at Harrenhal happened.

XXXXXXX

I held and rocked baby Daenerys, my sweet little sister. We were in Braavos, in the big house with the red door and the lemon tree Daenerys had missed so much in the series. My heart ached when I thought about how she’d miss it in this life as well. I’d gotten emotionally invested in her when she was just a character in a story. When she was my blood sibling, precious and vulnerable in my arms, I was ready to die for her.

I hadn’t had any real plans to try and stop Robert’s Rebellion. I was only six when it started, not much I could do. I forced myself to watch when Aerys, my ‘father’, had Brandon and Rickard Stark murdered. I could almost get behind a cause that wanted that man off the Iron Throne. But it pained me that it was all because my beloved big brother jumped the gun. He couldn’t have divorced Elia or officially petitioned the Starks to take Lyanna as a second wife. No, he had to run off and elope with the love of his life, and the Realm paid the price.

I hadn’t missed King’s Landing, during our time at Dragonstone. The city stank like an open sewer, whereas the Targaryen seat of power always smelled like the ocean. I’d done what daily quests were available, training in the yard with the men and helping my pregnant mother. I hadn’t got to say goodbye to her. By the time I came back into the room the night of the storm, she’d already bled out. I was left an orphan, all alone in the world but for a squalling baby girl and a handful of loyal guards and servants.

And now we were here, on a different continent entirely, in exile for our own survival. Ser Willem Darry hadn’t taken ill yet, faithfully continuing to do his duty as a Kingsguard. Thinking of him, I got up and handed Dany over to her wet nurse. I tracked down Ser Willem and asked for our daily lesson.

“As you wish, my Prince,” he said. I was only 9, and not that skilled at swordplay. But I had time to learn, and he clearly believed that a man should know how to defend himself.

Not that I could really get better by training. My talent for swords or really all Bladed Weapons was dependent on a number value. But I could get used to waving one around and try to hammer into my mind the rules of combat and battle strategy.

Mission Alert!

Knightly Training

Train under Ser Willem Darry at the art of swordplay.

Optional: Take five or fewer ‘fatal’ blows.

Success: 50 EXP

Optional: 10 EXP, +5 Reputation with [Willem Darry].

Failure: N/A

Accept? [Y/N]

I gave a mental nod.

Time Remaining: 60:00

Blows taken: 0/5

Time Remaining: 59:59

Not for nothing was Ser Willem sworn into the monarch’s bodyguard. He played with me, for the most part. I managed to keep from making too many stupid mistakes. I managed to complete the mission AND the extra objective.

I couldn’t suppress a smile as the EXP was banked.

Bum-bum-bum-BUM!

Level Up!

Level 6

When I’d made my goodbyes to the Kingsguard, I retreated for my room, asking a passing servant for a bath. I got a smile and a nod. Maxed out Charisma sure helped with getting my way and making friends. Maybe Dany and I wouldn’t get robbed if and when Ser Willem died.

I went to my Character screen.

Viserys Targaryen

Level 6 EXP: 0/7000

Health: 300

Magic: 270

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

Strength: 4 +

Perception: 4 +

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 10

Intelligence: 9 +

Agility: 4 +

Luck: 4 +

Points: 1

Skills

Bladed Weapons: 25

Blunt Weapons: 4

Unarmed: 4

Ranged Weapons: 4

Observation: 4

Survival: 4

Stamina: 20

Pain Tolerance: 10

Immunity: 80

Speech: 9

Barter: 9

Animal Training: 9

Science: 5

Magic: 5

Crafting: 5

Evasion: 4

Sneak: 4

Riding: 4

Points: 54

Perks

[Blood of the Dragon]: The blood and fire magic of Valyria is strong in you. Unlocks Magic Skill, immunity to fire and heat damage, +25 to Animal Training with dragons. 

[Sleep is for the Dead]: Most people need to lie down at the end of the day, but not you! You are unique, able to function on only an hour of sleep a week. What WILL you do with all that extra time? 

Points: 1

There I was. I’d funneled almost all my Skill points into Immunity. I didn’t want to die of smallpox or greyscale or one of any number of diseases in this pre-vaccine world. I’d gone for Stamina at Level 4 for that sweet Perk, which had required a minimum of 20. I’d padded it along with Bladed Weaponry, so I could take part in sparring Missions.

I maxed out Intelligence and could actually feel my mind get clearer and sharper when I did. I stuck 26 in Sneak, so I could start trying to get out of the house at night, see if I could get any missions in the city. I put 8 into Evasion, so I could do something besides block when I fought. The last 20 I funneled into Immunity, rounding it out at 100.

I was surprised to hear a fanfare similar to a Level Up when I maxed Immunity

[Immunity] Mastered!

Choose Mutation:

[Bane of Poisoners]: You have such a stern constitution, even substances designed to kill you from within prove ineffective! Whether breathed in, imbibed, or inflicted by wound, toxins simply do not affect you.

[Healing Aura]: You’re so brimming with health, it spills out to others! Those that keep regular contact with you will find themselves not getting sick, no matter what.

I immediately picked Healing Aura. I wanted Daenerys to stay alive too. And I could always start praying to R’hllor and get the whole ‘fire cleanses’ protection against poison.

For my Perk, I settled for something that would help me in combat until I was properly leveled up and would probably come in handy as a party trick.

[Feet of Stone]: When in combat, your feet are rooted to the ground. No matter your enemy’s strength, you will never be knocked down. You can still be cut to ribbons, but at least you won’t fall on your back. Requirement: Level 6, [Endurance]: 8, [Agility]: 4.

Oh, that had SO much potential for reality-bending cheating, once I set my mind to it.

I relaxed into the bath. It would be a hard life, for the next few years. Ser Willem would kick the bucket sooner or later, he was positively ancient by this world’s standards. Once he did, it would be up to me to keep Dany and myself safe. With my 10 Intelligence, I could remember every line of the books from my previous life. After Braavos, Dany and Viserys had gone to Myr, Tyrosh, Qohor, Volantis, Lys, and finally Pentos. Seven of the Nine Free Cities.

I worried, as a big brother should, about how Daenerys would handle the constant moving, living off the charity of those that respected the name Targaryen. Still… I could only imagine the loot and Missions I’d find until that fateful meeting with Illyrio Mopatis.

XXXXXXX

The years passed. I did my best, raising Dany, teaching her how to take care of herself, how to carry herself as a royal should, how to live rather than just survive. I taught her combat, no reason not to. She was no Arya with a sword, but she proved to have Legolas-like talent with a bow. And people loved her. I could charm and cajole and threaten to get my way, but she could wrap people around her finger within ten minutes of meeting them. I made sure she knew the history of our family, of the legacy we’d made in the Seven Kingdoms, but I also taught her to respect and appreciate other cultures. In the thriving cultural hodgepodge of the Free Cities, she became quite worldly, and came to believe that no matter our differences, beneath it we were all the same.

I was quite proud of how she turned out. And I was convinced that it was only 40% me. She was born to be a Queen, I just tried to cultivate that rather than stifle it, as my counterpart might have in another life.

Today was a special day. It was the day where canon began for our story. The arrangements had been made. Tonight, Magister Illyrio would present Daenerys and I to Khal Drogo. Dany wasn’t thrilled about her arranged marriage, but she wasn’t terrified either. Her major objection was that she wasn’t marrying me, which just made me all kinds of uncomfortable. I’d explained what I knew about the dangers of inbreeding and made it clear that I saw her as a sibling and nothing more. She was mollified, but still ticked that she was essentially being sold for an army. To console her, I pointed out that I’d probably have to sell myself when we took back our homeland, to secure alliances and such.

I mentally had my eye on Margaery Tyrell. Possibly Sansa Stark too, if I could reintroduce bigamy. Unite the North and the South, and two of the prettiest girls in the Seven Kingdoms in my bed.

And that was just for marriage, nudge nudge, wink wink.

Let’s just say that hitting puberty when in Lys had left its mark.

At the moment, it was before dawn, and I was inspecting Illyrio’s office. I’d known he was in contact with Varys but decided to verify it with more than just book memories. Anything for EXP. I finally found a rudimentary safe hidden behind a painting. Is it cliché if it’s in another world? It was only three tumblers, and I had the ears of a bat at this point. I opened it and looked through the contents. Some priceless jewelry, of course, but mostly documents. I sped through them, breaking and memorizing the code in five minutes. Being a genius rocks sometimes. I made my way through records of illicit sales and blackmail to find a series of missives to the Spider. Jackpot. The plan, apparently, was indeed to take back Westeros with a Dothraki horde, aided by Pentoshi ships and what Lords Varys could rally. Illyrio was going to be Master of Coin if it all worked out, explained why he’d be so generous with us.

I put everything back the way I found it and reset the safe. I snuck back to my room and was honestly surprised by the fanfare.

Bum-bum-bum-BUM!

Level Up!

Level 30

Congratulations! You are Max Level!

Huh. I hadn’t been keeping track. Guess the 500 EXP from finding the correspondence had been enough to tip me over.

I quickly allocated my points and took a moment to just look at my Character Screen. It would never change again. I was as advanced as I would ever get.

Viserys Targaryen

Health: 1500

Magic: 1500

Level 30 EXP: MAX

S.P.E.C.I.A.L. 

Strength: 10

Perception: 10

Endurance: 10

Charisma: 10

Intelligence: 10

Agility: 10

Luck: 10

Skills

Bladed Weapons: 100 [I am Not Left-Handed]

Blunt Weapons: 100 [Bone Breaker]

Unarmed: 100 [Jackie Chan? Jet Li? Amateurs]

Ranged Weapons: 100 [Hawk-eye]

Observation: 100 [Elementary, my Dear Watson]

Survival: [One with the Wild]

Stamina: 100 [You’re a Machine!]

Pain Tolerance: 100 [Merely a Flesh Wound]

Immunity: 100 [Healing Aura]

Speech: 100 [Silver Tongue]

Barter: 100 [And your Firstborn Too]

Animal Training: 100 [Beast Whisperer]

Science: 100 [Very Model of a Modern Maester]

Magic: 100 [Second Coming of Merlin]

Crafting: 100 [MacGyver]

Evasion: 100 [Bullet-time]

Sneak: 100 [Shadow Walker]

Riding: 100 [Are you a Centaur?]

Extra Skills

Alchemy: 100 [Philosopher’s Stone]

Traps: 100 [Step into my Web]

Tactics: 100 [Xanatos Gambit]

Medicine: 100 [Doctor Frankenstein]

Security: 100 [Impregnable Defense]

Repair: 100 [Just a Spit Shine]

Pickpocket: 100 [The Shirt off your Back]

Disguise: 100 [Are you a Faceless Man?]

Prayer: 100 [Missionary]

Sex: 100 [Magic Touch]

Swimming: 100 [Merpeople Exist]

Comeliness: 100 [Face of an Angel, Body of Sin]

Throwing: 100 [Bulls-eye with the Kitchen Sink]

Parkour: 100 [The World’s your Playground]

Perks

[Blood of the Dragon]: The blood and fire magic of Valyria is strong in you. Unlocks Magic Skill, immunity to fire and heat damage, +25 to Animal Training with dragons. 

[Sleep is for the Dead]: Most people need to lie down at the end of the day, but not you! You are unique, able to function on only an hour of sleep a week. What WILL you do with all that extra time?

[Feet of Stone]: When in combat, your feet are rooted to the ground. No matter your enemy’s strength, you will never be knocked down. You can still be cut to ribbons, but at least you won’t fall on your back.

[Skinchanger]: You are a Warg, capable of seeing through the eyes of animals. You have more than one body, if you so choose.

[Dragonbone Skeleton]: You are light as a feather, yet tougher than steel. At least, your bones are. Grants the bone structure of dragons, with all the benefits that come with that.

[Spidey Sense]: Your instincts and danger sense are cranked up to 11. Even if someone launches an arrow at your back, you’ll know it’s coming. Your reflexes are better than any human could ever hope for.

[Mental Map]: You have an infallible, intuitive sense of direction. You know exactly where you are, where you’ve been, and where you’re going. You even have a good guess where everyone else is, too!

[Pyromancy]: Fire is yours to command. The branches of Fire Magic are unlocked to you.

[Hydromancy]: Water is in you, and you are of Water. The branches of Water Magic are unlocked to you.

[Geomancy]: You are born of the Earth, and to the Earth you will return. The branches of Earth Magic are unlocked to you.

[Aeromancy]: The Wind answers to your beck and call. The branches of Wind Magic are unlocked to you.

[Clairvoyance]: You can sense the imprints left by others on any object or place. You see history as if you had lived it yourself when you put your mind to it. Unlocks Premonitions, Remote Sensing, and Channeling Magic.

[Know Better than to Cross Me]: You are intimidating, no doubt about it. People think twice before planning to go against you or target those you love. Your reputation alone can stop a conflict before it starts.

[Harem Master]: You are a being of infinite love, and those you are with understand this. You can juggle as many relationships as you’d like, and the chances of it blowing up in your face is greatly reduced. But don’t get TOO confident, stud, jealousy can and will still happen.

[The Prince that was Promised]: You are the Chosen One. You are prophesized to end the threat of the Others once and for all. Those aware of the Prophecy will gravitate towards you, and White Walkers will instinctively fear you.

I’d fought and clawed to get to this point. I wasn’t content to rest on my dubious claim to a foreign throne to get by in the world. I’d made a reputation as a trader of goods, a fearsome sellsword, and a broker of alliances. I’d earned our keep in each of the Free Cities Daenerys and I had lived in, to the delight and profit of our various hosts. I’d built up a network of allies over the years, whom I faithfully kept contact with. I only ever uprooted us when one of Robert’s assassins popped up.

I made a point of always having them sent back in pieces.

Extra Skills had appeared once I’d maxed out the original 18, with minimal help from Skill Books. I got the chance to make another skill entirely at the cost of 100 points. I got 2800 total after that point, so I had maxed out 14 skills of my own creation. Yes, Sex and Comeliness were purely self-serving, but I have no regrets.

Most of my perks were geared towards combat or improving on my magical powers. I was a mage, through and through, though I took great care to keep it secret. No need to have the superstitious masses aware of the witch-king in their midst. Only Dany knew, and that’s because I couldn’t resist amazing her with tricks growing up. I ‘found’ Valyrian Steel jewelry and weapons with remarkable regularity, which I usually managed to get top coin for. And yes, Harem Master served little practical purpose other than facilitating me being a total man-whore.

Pretty sure there were a couple Targaryen bastards lying around Essos. I’d have to track them down at some point. I wasn’t going to be like Robert, any child of mine was a child of mine. To the hells with legitimacy, any blood relative I had deserved the very best.

Daenerys could only shake her head when she heard of my exploits. She (jokingly) pointed out that they called me the ‘Dragon in Heat’ in the wine sinks. How she heard what was said in wine sinks, naturally, led to her getting grounded for a week. Like hell I’d let my baby sister around those kinds of people.

Of course, I was also planning on marrying said baby sister off to a 30-year-old man. But I comforted myself with the knowledge they’d grow to love each other.

The final Perk was inevitable, really. I was overpowered as fuck, aware of just how much a threat the White Walkers were, and one of three heads of the dragon (the other two being Jon and Dany, I believed). Sure, it basically made me the ‘main’ protagonist, but this was MY game, damnit.

I grabbed my required hour of sleep. My dreams were just that, dreams. I’d purposely avoided anything like prophetic powers, including picking Missionary rather than Prophet for my Prayer mutation. I’d only invented the Skill in the first place since I’d noticed some of my magic was strengthened by spiritual wellness. I considered myself a free agent, from a divinity point of view. I prayed to the Great Beyond, and any god interested in listening could kick whatever mojo they wanted my way.

My day kicked off with breaking my fast with Illyrio and Daenerys. I grabbed a mid-morning ‘snack’ from a manservant (yes, my tastes ran both ways), and then had my morning lesson with my sister. She fought with a Valyrian Steel rapier, which I had forged myself and given to her as a 10th nameday present. She’d named it Dragontooth. Daenerys would never win a bout with pure strength; even for a 13-year-old she was petite and would likely forever be. But she had a lunge that could come from a league away and a great head for distraction tactics that opened a chance to strike. She actually beat me with a well-timed handful of sand. I could have blocked, but I let her have the victory.

“Very good, Dany! You fight like Visenya, sweet sister.”

“Don’t flatter me, Vis. Dark Sister is a broadsword, I couldn’t even lift it if I tried,” she groused. She was beautiful, and strong, and happy, and everything I’d ever wanted her to be. She was so much like Rhaegar, the brother she’d never had a chance to meet.

“Okay, maybe not as great as her. But you could kill most idiots that pick up a sword, and that’s saying something.”

“Won’t my new husband mind that his wife knows how to fight?” she asked tauntingly.

“It’s not the Dothraki way for women to do battle. But Khal Drogo has yet to take a Dothraki wife, despite amble opportunity. I’m willing to bet he’ll be as charmed by your unique skill as by your exotic beauty.”

She blushed. Damn, why can’t I turn off the flirting aura for her? That’s just weird. “Do I really have to marry him?” Her voice was resigned, already knowing the answer. We’d had this fight too many times, and I’d always won.

“You know the plan, sweet sister. The Dothraki are the best cavalry in the world, and Drogo has 40,000 screamers at his back. Once you make him the happiest man in the world, we convince him to march on Slaver’s Bay. We get an army of Unsullied, whether through coin or treachery, and then we go for the ships. Within a couple years, we will land on the shores of Westeros, and the Iron Throne will soon have a Targaryen upon it once again.”

She grinned. It was her favorite story, and one I’d fed her from the cradle. Manipulative, perhaps, but it really was best that one of us take the throne. We could hardly do worse than Robert, Cersei, and Joffrey.

“Can’t you just use your… powers?” she said, whispering at the end.

“They’ll help, certainly. But not even I can conquer the Seven Kingdoms all by myself, sweet sister. I need an army for the first few victories, at least. Then I should have everyone terrified enough of my magic and my warriors they’ll surrender if they have a drop of sense in their heads.” I grinned toothily.

She sighed. “Is he at least handsome?”

“He’s tall and muscular, I can tell you that. And his braid falls past his hips, because he’s never had it cut in a loss. And he’s kind, or at least as kind as any Dothraki can be. But handsome? We’ll have to see for ourselves.”

She got an odd look in her eyes. “Viserys… please don’t seduce my husband. I don’t care if it’s Drogo or someone else, don’t take him just because you can.”

Why do I suddenly feel like Jolene? “I promise, Daenerys.” I paused. “Can I still try and seduce his bloodriders?”

She gave a long-suffering sigh.

I spent an hour with her reviewing her Dothraki; I’d picked up every language I could and made the effort to teach them to Dany as well. We had lunch, and then she was left to get ready. Unlike in canon, her outfit wouldn’t be a gift from Illyrio. I wasn’t stinking rich, but I could purchase raw materials and then work my figurative and literal magic. She would be wearing a gown of Mithril, which was the name I’d given for Valyrian Steel chainmail. The metal shined like silver but was unbreakable. Beauty mixed with practicality, a battledress for a warrior and a lady both. It should highlight her hair, while amethysts and gold would do for jewelry. She’d wear Mother’s tiara, the last of the crown jewels. I hadn’t minded selling the rest, but that I kept just for Daenerys.

I’d be wearing traditional Westerosi finery, a black silk tunic and breeches, encrusted with ruby chips in the shape of a three-headed dragon. A Valyrian Steel circlet rested on my head, while a golden belt would hold up Lightbringer, my personal Valyrian Steel blade. A little on the nose, yes, but I’d planned to take the Prince who was Promised Perk since I was 8. Unlike most men, I had pierced ears, and I went for ruby studs set in dragonglass to stay in my color scheme.

I enjoyed a long bath (with two of the girls who brought it in) and dried myself off by setting myself on fire after they left. I got all gussied up, and then set out to find Illyrio.

“Ah, Viserys. You look all a king. When they write the history of your reign, they will surely say it started tonight,” the unctuous man said when I’d entered his office.

“Do you need me to go over your accounts? I need something to pass the time. Why do women take so long to get dressed?” I said amicably. The man was a heartless businessman, but he was on my side, so I played nice.

“I fear we men may never understand the answer to that, good prince. And if it pleases you, I would indeed appreciate it. You have such a head for numbers, and such a kind heart to look after me so.” 

I shrugged. “As people serve their King, a King should serve his people. And as I said, I’m bored.”

I went over his ledgers, noting where there had been errors and providing my thoughts on how to maximize profits while minimizing losses. We passed a couple hours, talking business and economics. A shameless sycophant he may be, but Illyrio was clever. He hadn’t become a Magister through bribery. Well, not JUST bribery.

Speaking of…

“Tell me, Illyrio,” I said as I closed the last book. “Is Varys paying you anything, or are you content with just the promise of future favors?”

He barely blinked. “Pardon me, Viserys? I don’t understand what you mean.”

“42-17-30,” I said. He paled as I spouted the combination to his safe. “I’m not mad, merely curious. Why support us so much on only the word of a Targaryen loyalist?”

He chuckled, masking most of his shock. “In another life, Viserys, you’d have been the most feared thief in Essos. Varys and I are… close. His plan is my plan, and I will see it through to the end.”

I blinked. Well, that was an interesting nugget. “Fair enough. And don’t worry, you’ll be my Master of Coin. Littlefinger will be killed off either way, the man stinks of treachery and corruption. But know this,” I said, pulling my sword. It burst into golden flame with just a thought. Illyrio looked in danger of passing out. “Betray me or my sister in any way, and the Great Other will seem a delight once I’m through with you.”

“Azor Ahai,” he breathed, gaping at me.

“Indeed. I’ll take back my throne, but afterwards I march North. I will scour the Army of the Dead with fire, and plunge Lightbringer into the Night King’s chest myself.” I grinned, sheathed my sword, and sat down again. “So, what’s it like to bed a eunuch? I’d always wondered.”

We exchanged bawdy words for a little while, and then I left. Best to let him recover from coming face to face with his religion’s messiah.

I sat in the entry hall, idly playing with the water from the pool. I resisted the urge to use magic to up the entertainment value. Eldritch Abomination I may be, but I didn’t want anyone knowing that yet. Not until the Opportune Moment.

Finally, when the sun was dipping past the horizon, Daenerys came out. Her crown and necklace and bracelets glittered in the waning light, but not as much as her Mithril dress. It flashed and flared like fire, blinding the eye when the light hit it right. It reached to her knees, hugging her hips but flaring out to give her free range of movement, showing off the modest swell of her chest and the toned length of her arms. The purple of the gems could not match up to her eyes, and she carried Dragontooth at her hip on a silver belt with confidence. She moved like a dream and was twice as lovely.

“Daenerys,” I greeted. I couldn’t help my bittersweet smile, seeing my baby sister looking all grown up. “Any man who sees you will either worship at your feet or flee in terror.”

“Viserys, don’t be mean.” She came over and hugged me without hesitation. My heart warmed the way it only did with her. This, right here, was all I needed to assure myself I was doing things right. I was loved instead of feared.

I pulled back to look at her. “I’m serious though, sweet sister. I may have to defend your virtue to make sure Drogo waits for the wedding.”

“He’ll hardly want to marry me if you embarrass him by winning against him,” she said, rolling her eyes. I couldn’t help how my chest puffed up at her utter confidence in me. It was merited, but still.

“No battle will be necessary, Princess Daenerys,” Illyrio said, waddling out. “You are a vision of beauty. Drogo will be enchanted by you.”

We were carried through the city on a palanquin, which was basically a portable bed. It was fun to lie on pillows and watch the city pass us by. I kept my senses keen for any threats. Butterfly effects could be a bitch, never knew when some assassin would pop up because I’d unknowingly slighted someone powerful.

We were let in to Drogo’s nine-towered manse after Illyrio announced us to the Unsullied gate guard.

“Is it just me, or did he have an accent?” Daenerys asked.

“He was born Dothraki, raised around Ghiscari, and spent who knows how long here in Pentos. Of course, he had an accent,” I said absently.

“Show-off,” she muttered.

We were led into a gathering of the who’s-who of Pentos, with a eunuch announcing our presence in High Valyrian. Every Dothraki horselord currently visiting the city, along with the nobility of the Free Cities, whalers from the Port of Ibben, and exiled princes from the Summer Isles. Daenerys was the only woman and by far the youngest, yet she stood unafraid. I’d raised her well.

My eyes went to the only other pale-skinned person in the room. “Ser Jorah Mormont, yes? Our new bodyguard and spy?” I asked Illyrio.

“What?” Daenerys asked, keeping her polite mask in place.

“Oh, sorry Dany, I forgot to tell you. Father’s Master of Whisperers is looking out for us from across the Narrow Sea. He’s the one who convinced Illyrio to host us, and he sent that knight in the corner to look out for us. He is also to watch us and report our every move, but that goes without saying.”

“Please, Prince Viserys, guard your tongue. Secrets only hold power when few know them,” cautioned the cheese monger.

“I’m whispering, and I’m confident you and I are the only men here who can read lips. Relax, Illyrio.”

“It’s true what they say. Kings lack the caution of ordinary men,” the Pentoshi grumbled.

“What does Ser Jorah get out of this arrangement?” Daenerys asked.

“He was exiled for selling poachers to a slaver, a desperate move to secure funds to fulfill his greedy wife’s tastes. She left him for a Lysene merchant prince, and he’s been living in shame ever since. If he swears his sword to us and saves our lives on at least one occasion, we’ll of course grant him a royal pardon when we reclaim the Iron Throne,” I explained.

“Did the Lord of Light reveal all this to you?” Illyrio asked, a put-out tone to his words mixed with curious awe.

I crooked my mouth. “Would you believe I read it in a book?”

Illyrio only sighed. “There is Khal Drogo. I must go make my submissions. I’ll bring him to you, wait here.” With that, he took his leave.

“What did you do to that poor man?” my sister demanded in a hiss.

“Illyrio Mopatis is many things, sweet sister, but poor is not one of them.” I shrugged. “I showed him how I can set weapons on fire. He’s now convinced I’m some legendary warrior destined to rid the world of the White Walkers.”

“White Walkers? I thought those were just a story,” she said, a hint of fear in her voice as she contemplated that fairytale monsters might just be real.

“The Wall was built for a reason, Dany. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with them. I know their weaknesses, and I’ll have the whole of the Seven Kingdoms behind me to remove the threat they pose. As well as something very special, if Illyrio gets you the bride gift I think he will,” I said lowly.

She pouted. “You love to tease me, don’t you?”

“I’m your big brother. It’s part of the job description.”

She turned her eyes to the Dothraki Illyrio was speaking with. “So that’s Drogo?”

“Indeed. I told you he was tall.”

She looked over the man, who was head and shoulders above everyone else there. Even so, his braid brushed the back of his thighs. “He’s really never cut his hair?”

“Dothraki boys grow out their hair from birth. After their first victory, they earn the right to braid it. Every time they suffer a loss, their braid is cut off by their opponent, so the world can know his shame. Dothraki men compare their braids the way other men compare their cocks or women compare breasts.”

She blushed. “We don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.” I said with utter confidence.

Daenerys huffed. “He looks mean.”

“He could be putting on a front, so he’s not mocked for showing emotion. Or maybe his face is just like that. I’m telling you, I hear he treats women very well.”

She sighed. “I know what I have to do, dear brother. And I trust you when you tell me that I’ll learn to like it. He’s just… not what I pictured.”

I tried not to frown. Then I had a brilliant idea. “Ask yourself this, Dany. Would you really want me as your husband? Having to deal with my whoring and bastards? Having to listen to my voice and my crazy ideas every day? Being stuck with me for the rest of your life, with no escape?”

Her already creamy skin turned even more white. “… On second thought, he looks quite handsome. And the girl slaves always told me to marry a man who can ride.”

I tried not to laugh at her.

Illyrio walked over to us, Khal Drogo stalking behind him. Most Dothraki had a bow-legged swagger, the consequence of a lifetime in the saddle. Drogo walked with a catlike grace though. “My guests, great Khal, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen” spoke Illyrio in Dothraki.

“The Andal prince and princess, yes?” Drogo asked, in a deep baritone.

“We are of Valyria, Khal Drogo,” I said in his native tongue, surprising him. “Our family conquered the Andals three hundred years ago on the backs of dragons. They united the seven khalasars of the Land of the Andals into one, making all the peoples one herd. Sadly, the dragons died, and our family had the bad habit of mating brother to sister in the name of keeping our blood ‘pure’, unknowing or uncaring of the risk. Our father was a poor khal and lost all our family had won over the centuries in two years. My sister and I were forced to flee for our lives, lest the Usurper who rose against him have us slaughtered. He had his eye on a woman our brother took to wife, and he is determined to wipe out all his blood in revenge.” I grinned wolfishly. “I intend to do the same to him.”

He looked at me appraisingly. “How will you do this, Viserys, son of a madman?”

I refused to bristle. “With an army. The greatest army to ever ride. An army that will be remembered long after every rider has died.” I shrugged. “It could be your army, if you wish.”

I’ll admit, I wasn’t the best with words. I was mostly counting on my maxed-out Skills to handle the hard work.

“Why would I cross the black salt sea, Prince with no army?” Drogo had a hell of a poker face, I’ll give him that.

“To be the first Dothraki to do so. To lead the first khalasar to raid a land that has never seen one before and fight warriors no Dothraki has crossed blades with. To claim the gifts a grateful king will shower upon you.” I tilted my head towards Daenerys. “And to make your beautiful khaleesi happy.”

Drogo looked at my sister. I resisted the urge to gut him at his blatant leering. I couldn’t have it both ways, I needed him to think with his cock on this one. “You intend to gift her to me?”

“No, I will gift myself to you,” Daenerys said, with just the right mix of sharp and sweet. Drogo’s eyebrows went up, which I could tell was an extreme reaction for him. “I will gift you my body, my mind, and many strong sons and beautiful daughters. In return, you will gift my brother with the throne stolen from our family. And on that day, he will gift you with gold and horses and steel and anything else you want, and I will gift you with my smile.”

He took a few seconds to process that. He eyed her belt. “You are a woman, and yet you carry a sword?”

Daenerys smiled, though it would be more accurate to say she barred her teeth. In a lightning-fast move, she drew Dragontooth. She turned to the side, stabbing and slicing at the air, every move as quick and lethal as the lunge of a snake. I heard the men in the room grumble and exclaim over the display. With a flourish that would have sliced a man’s neck if he were in range, Daenerys sheathed her blade. She turned to Drogo, her eyes bright and fierce.

“I am not just a woman. I am Daenerys Stormborn, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror, the greatest warrior to ever live. I am a dragon made flesh, and so too is my brother and all the Targaryen’s that came before us. The magic of Old Valyria runs in our veins, and we are MORE than other men and women.” She smiled wide, and her beauty was as sharp as a knife. “The Dothraki believe in the exchange of gifts, equal in value. Tell me Drogo, son of Bharbo, do you believe I am equal to the whole of the Sunset Kingdoms and the Iron Throne?”

It was easy to tell that Drogo was interested. Horsehair trousers aren’t very concealing.

“I will send a rider to my khalasar, to tell them to come and prepare for our wedding. I will have you as my wife, dragon princess. And you will see your brother sit on his iron chair.” He turned behind him. “Blood of my blood!” He walked away, off to plan for his nuptials.

And with that, the job was done.

“Seven Hells, Dany,” I breathed out in Common. “You did all the hard work. I was practicing the speech I was going to use all day.”

She bit her lip. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, hold onto it. You were glorious. I didn’t even have to use you-know-what to convince him.”

“Oh, stop.”

“He’s right, Daenerys,” Illyrio said, eyeing the rest of the courtyard. “Were we not in Drogo’s house and he already staked a claim, I have no doubt we’d be swarmed by half the men here begging for your hand.”

Speak of the Stranger, Ser Jorah Mormont was walking over.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing to me but focus clearly on Daenerys. “If it please you, I would swear my sword to you. I would be honored to serve the rightful King of Westeros.”

“I accept,” I said. “Now, if you all don’t mind, I think we should leave. We got what we came for, and I can only handle so much of people ogling my baby sister. My betrothed baby sister… I feel so old.”

Daenerys shook her head. “I’ll say this about you, Vis. Whatever else happens, you will definitely be the oddest man to ever sit the Iron Throne.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

XXXXXXX

I spent the weeks up until Daenerys and Drogo’s wedding working on my bride gifts for her. I basically took over the basement to Illyrio’s manse and ordered not to be disturbed. If anyone had any questions about flashes of light, strange sounds, and where my finished products came from, none dared to ask. I was determined to spoil my sweet sister on her big day. I used all my alchemical knowledge, both to spin gold from straw to purchase what I needed (thank you, Rumpelstiltskin for that idea) and to fashion the more exotic metals.

I also sought out and bought three slaves for myself. I made sure that they were old, criminals in the past, and ready to die. Little did they know, they’d help usher in a new era.

The fun part about maxed-out Skills and 10 Intelligence is that I didn’t have to research traditional methods. I could set my mind to doing something and reverse engineer the process in a matter of minutes.

In most cultures, even on Planetos, a wedding consisted of a ceremony followed by a celebration. The Dothraki did away with the first and went whole hog on the second. The ‘wedding’ was a day-long feast, with the honored couple on top of a wooden dais set before the whole khalasar. From dawn to dusk, I sat on a platform a couple levels down from Daenerys and Drogo, eating from the portions they and Drogo’s bloodriders didn’t take, watching the Dothraki go utterly wild.

It was like having a front-row seat to the biggest orgy in the world.

Women danced around the platform, gyrating to the beat of the drums in a truly mesmerizing fashion. Drogo and the other men on the dais occasionally tossed a medallion into the crowd to watch the dancers fight over it. I was very much reminded of traditional bachelor party from my first life, which I couldn’t help but feel was in poor taste with my sister right there next to the groom. Men hovered around the edge of the dancers, eyeing them with lust. They all knew that each dancer wanted to be mounted, but to enter the circle was to risk death if another man challenged you.

It was barely 10 in the morning by my reckoning before the first warrior stepped up. He walked up to a dancer, pulled down the front of his pants, and bent over and fucked one of the dancers in front of the gods and everyone. Like a flock of lemmings assured the waters were safe, others stepped forward. Within ten minutes, the first conflict occurred. Two men approached the same woman, and they both drew their arakhs, the curved swords the Dothraki favored. In short order, one of them was disemboweled and fell to the ground, the victor turning to hump a different woman entirely. Slaves came forward to carry the corpse away.

I kept my eye on Daenerys, hoping she wouldn’t be sick. For all her training, she’d never actually killed or seen a man die. The closest she’d come was stabbing a snarling dog that crossed her path, and it had run away with its tail between its legs. I’d warned her to expect this, how a Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths was considered bad luck. The Dothraki were a savage people, living like the animals we were under all our airs of civility, and it was ‘kill or be killed’. Any man who died deserved it for being weak, to the Dothraki mind.

Daenerys was firmly keeping her eyes off the live snuff porn, deep in conversation with Drogo. No doubt she was getting him to fall in love with her, she did it without even trying to most men and women she met. Really, I was kind of glad she was getting a giant bodyguard to look after her, though I dared not tell her so. She’d castrate me with Dragontooth if I did.

Beyond the circle of dancers, the thousands upon thousands that followed Drogo were feasting, fucking, and fought like there was no tomorrow. An attitude cultivated probably because for some of them, there wouldn’t be. Men yelled and joked around fires, bet on horse races, took part in duels, and flirted with any woman they weren’t related to. I noted more than a little homosexual behavior amidst the masses. Well, the Dothraki literally worshipped the horse, and gay stallions and mares were a thing. So, I wouldn’t be stoned or anything if I got to my usual antics.

I passed the time by talking to Illyrio and Ser Jorah, but mostly I just watched. I made sure to stay only mildly buzzed, nursing my cup of watered wine. No need to risk addiction in this life too.

The hours passed, and at sunset Drogo broke off his conversation with Daenerys to clap. The whole khalasar went quiet so fast it was spooky. Now that’s loyalty.

I went first, and I was confident only Illyrio and his precious cargo would upstage me.

“I present you with three handmaidens, each bearing two gifts for you,” I told my newly-married sister. She was resplendent in Lysene silks and met my eye with exasperated affection. She knew I was going to go all out. “Irri, who shall teach you the Dothraki way of riding. She wears Mithril-lined vest and trousers, to protect you while you ride, and carries a dragonhide saddle.” I prompted the Dothraki girl to go forward, wearing the shiny riding leathers and carrying the scaled saddle. “Jhiqui, who shall teach you of Dothraki culture and help with your fluency. She wears a dress of white-gold thread, to show all your wealth and splendor, and carries a Valyrian Steel crossbow.” Jhiqui, Irri’s sister, stepped forward, struggling with the weight of the weapon. “And Doreah, who shall teach you the womanly arts. She wears a shift of silk woven with Valyrian runes, to promote fertility and good sleep, and bears a mirror of Myrish glass.” The Lysene pleasure slave walked forward, practically slinking, holding up a looking glass as clear as water.

I’d lucked out that they were all roughly Daenerys’s size. Doreah’s outfit was cut a bit wide in the bust, but Daenerys would grow into it, one way or another. I was making extra sure I didn’t think too hard about the fact I’d be an uncle within a year, lest I murder Drogo in a protective brotherly rage.

I’d made the saddle from a scrap of actual dragonhide I’d won as a Mission reward, magically recreating it from regular cow leather. The crossbow was as light and yet as powerful as I could make it while keeping it a reasonable size for Daenerys. The silks I had enchanted myself, and I left out how they were spider silk rather than silkworm silk. With the weave and magic I’d put in, the seemingly flimsy garb would block all but the sharpest knife. No reason my sister shouldn’t be protected even in her pajamas.

My gifts caused the expected stir. Most marveled at the sheer rarity and ergo cost of the materials, while some of the men were making a fuss over me giving my sister a weapon.

“Must you always over-do things?” Dany asked.

“Best of the best and nothing less, that’s my motto and you know it.”

Ser Jorah gave his gift of the histories and stories from the Seven Kingdoms, to my closet bookworm sister’s delight. When Magister Illyrio presented the dragon eggs, her eyes flew to mine in shock. I grinned and shared a secret nod with her. An almost manic gleam of excitement entered her eye before she covered it to give her thanks to Illyrio.

Huh. Maybe she’d gotten a touch of the family madness after all.

Daenerys refused the bloodriders’ gifts for tradition’s sake; besides, she couldn’t really use the arakh, whip, or double-curved bow. Then literal hundreds of Dothraki families from the khalasar came forward, offering what trinkets and baubles they could afford to honor their new khaleesi. Among the gifts was a gown sewn from the skin of mice. I figured it was the same concept as lace, the value was in the amount of time necessary to its construction.

Finally, Drogo came forward with the silver filly. Daenerys’s face lit up with joy when she saw it. She hopped into the saddle all on her own, to her new husband’s clear amusement and approval. She took the horse for a brief gallop, including the leap over the firepit from canon. I could only smile at seeing her so free and full of joy.

“You have given me the wind,” she said to Drogo when she came back, her face flushed and heartbreaking in the dying light of the dusk. His smile was all I needed to be sure he’d treat my sister right. He adored her already.

I sidled up to my sister’s side as Drogo was saddling his own red stallion. “I promise not to hatch them until you come back,” I whispered to her.

“How did you figure it out? The secret has been lost for centuries.”

“The secret was no secret, sweet sister. It was in our House words the whole time.” I smiled. “Fire and Blood. Heat to wake them up, and a sacrifice to bring them out. A life for a life. It’s obvious, if you know anything about magic.”

“Who gets the third?”

I shrugged. “That would be telling. Now go enjoy your wedding night… I can’t believe I just said that.”

She laughed and followed Drogo as they rode out into the distance, the stars coming out in the indigo sky.

I smiled after them, then turned to the winding down party.

I tracked down Illyrio. “So, what’s this about a Red Priest and Priestess looking for me?”

He had received word in the middle of the ceremony of a man and woman at the edge of the khalasar, wanting to speak to “the prince.” I’d bid they wait at my tent until nightfall if it was important and come back tomorrow if it wasn’t.

“They insist on meeting the prince. They don’t ask for you by name, merely repeating those words.”

I put it together. The Perk had said people in the know would gravitate towards me. “They’re not here for me, they’re here for the Prince that was Promised. Illyrio, have you been wagging your tongue?”

“I swear on my life, I have not.”

“Then they must have seen it in the flames. R’hllor apparently wants them to meet me.” I shrugged. “Well, might as well hear what they have to say.”

I took advantage of the growing darkness, wrapping myself in air to bend the light and lift me off the ground. I flew invisibly over the massive, sprawling khalasar to the tent set aside for my use. I could hear two heartbeats inside as I touched down.

And yeah, I can fly. I’m quite possibly the most magical human this world has ever seen. Thank you, Magic Skill.

I walked in, not surprised to see the brazier was lit. A Qartheen man and a Braavosi woman looked up from the flames. Their gazes held reverence and hope, like they were looking at a religious figure or savior.

Which I was, in their minds.

“Let me guess. Servants of the Lord of Light, saw visions in the flames, come to pledge your loyalty?” I said, wanting to skip any conversation. It had been a long day, and I felt like a solid night’s sleep for a change.

The man bowed. “It is as you say, Azor Ahai.”

“You are truly blessed by R’hllor,” the woman all but moaned.

“First rule of working for me, no mentioning the prophecy. If anyone asks, you’re trying hard to convert me, so I can spread the word of your Lord to the Seven Kingdoms. Second, I prefer you just call me Viserys, no ‘your Grace’ or ‘my Lord’ and definitely no calling me Azor Ahai. Now, what are your names?”

The woman, dressed in a red dress and dripping with rubies, gave a curtsy to the floor. “I am Selenia of Braavos, Viserys. I pledge my life, my magic, and my body to your service.”

The man, in robes and with a massive greatsword slung over his back, went down on one knee and bowed. “I am Sezgin, from the Queen of Cities, Qarth. I pledge the same, Viserys Targaryen.”

I looked them over, submissive posture and fanatic light in their eyes.

“When you say you pledge your bodies to me…” I said leadingly.

Wordlessly, they both disrobed. I was presented with clean-cut muscles and caramel breasts, a pale pillar and a glistening tunnel.

I could sleep later.


	2. Chapter 2

I climbed out of bed, leaving behind two exhausted but sated followers of R’hllor. I’m pretty sure I just had celebrity sex, with myself as the celebrity. Selenia was so turned on at the start she, I kid you not, came just from me touching her. And Sezgin, for all his impressive brawn, was quite flexible. I’m fairly certain they’d both drink my dirty bathwater.

If they were like this now, what would they do after I’d ‘vanquished the Great Other’, as they were so convinced I would? I might get my first ever ‘Success Not Possible’ check for Stamina.

It was dark out, that quiet hour before dawn when the night was blackest and stillest. I made my way to the wooden platform that had held the wedding party yesterday. I led the three men I’d purchased, all of them sullen and silent at being woken so early but knowing better than to defy their master.

Slavery was something I’d had to adjust to, growing up in Essos. Morally, I found it repugnant, but I couldn’t deny the money to be made and the sheer usefulness of having unpaid help. I consoled myself by treating them as politely as I would their masters, but otherwise I just kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t in any position to become the ‘Breaker of Chains’, even with my maxed-out status.

Not yet, at least. And the service these three men would provide would get me a hell of a lot closer.

I was a King. It was my job to make the tough decisions. I wouldn’t lose sleep over sacrificing these broken-down shells in order to bring back the dragons. Not when those dragons might very well be crucial to saving all life on this little blue rock from an army of necromantic ice wraiths.

I ripped three non-loadbearing posts from the base of the platform, the slaves murmuring at my casual display of strength. I led them up to the top, where I stuck the three posts down into the surface of the dais. I commanded the three of them to sit and bound them with rope to each post. The youngest looked a tad uneasy, but the other two were placid as Hindu cows. I’d picked these three specifically because no one would miss them, and they were so beaten down by life that death would be a comfort.

“Stay here and be silent,” I ordered them. The first part was unnecessary since the knots I’d used were perfect, but it should keep them from struggling just in case. Leaving the sacrifices, I made my way to the giant pile of gifts, nearly the size of the platform they neighbored. When Dany and Drogo came back at dawn, they would all be packed up by the khalasar and trail behind the horse-lord and his new horse-lady. At the moment though, they just sat there as a monument to the generosity of the people for their rulers.

I managed to silence the guards with a charming smile and a statement that Daenerys would be okay with me taking anything of hers. They looked iffy about the whole thing, especially when I hauled up the chest containing the dragon eggs, but my Charisma held out. I walked back over to the platform, the khalasar slowly awakening around me. More than a few stopped to stare at the khaleesi’s brother, playing around on the wedding platform with some slaves and a chest. I ignored them; if they thought this was strange, then what came next might give them heart attacks.

I gave the slaves milk of the poppy, because I wasn’t a savage and if I was going to use their lives as currency I could at least have the decency to make the exchange painless. When the drug had made its way through their systems, I pulled out the dragon eggs, each a teardrop a little bigger than my head. I nestled them in the laps of the slaves, taking especial care that they wouldn’t be jostled and roll away.

After that, I fetched oil from my tent, waking up my two newest conquests while I was at it and bidding them to come bear witness to history. I poured the oil generously over the various levels of the platform, emptying my last bottle over the slaves and the precious cargo tucked inside their crossed legs. By the time I was finished, the sun had risen fully over the horizon, and Dany and Drogo had ridden back into camp.

“Dragon prince, what are you doing?” demanded Drogo, clearly questioning my sanity.

I smiled down at him. “Fear not, good-brother. I’m merely preparing the second half of my gift to Daenerys.” I held out my hand to my sister. “Dany, care to join me?”

Dany dismounted her horse without hesitation, moving to climb up the platform. Drogo, with impressive speed, slipped off his own steed and blocked her. “Moon-of-my-life, I would not see you harmed less than a day since we were wed.”

My petite little sister reached up a hand and went on her tippy-toes to caress her husband’s face. Despite the size difference, it was clear who had the power. “I will not be harmed, my sun-and-stars. Viserys would never do anything to hurt me.”

With great reluctance, Drogo stepped aside. Dany walked up the dais to me, wearing the same dress she had yesterday. It would get burned up, sadly, but she hadn’t liked it that much. It had been a gift from Illyrio she couldn’t turn down. I myself wore my most threadbare shirt and trousers, which considering my standard of living was still better than some people ever wore. Oh, well, the clothes would be a pittance compared to the treasure we were about to receive.

When Dany was at my side, I wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed her brow. My motions hid a probe I sent with my magic, making sure she had the same protections in her blood as I did. She passed my test. That done, I lifted my other hand above my head. A conjured flame appeared in my hands, golden and bright. “Fire and Blood!” I called out in High Valyrian. And then I brought down my hand and the platform went up in a blaze.

It was like being in a particularly dry sauna, standing in the middle of a blaze. The flames curled up our forms, eagerly eating up the cloth, but our flesh was left untouched. We dimly heard shouts, screams, and yelling from the distance, but most of it was blocked out by the roar of the pyre.

“I should have warned him better,” Daenerys said casually at my side. “He’ll be so worried.”

“When he sees you cradling a newborn dragon in your arms, he’ll be too in awe to worry,” I consoled her. “Now, let’s check on the eggs.”

We turned and crouched, eyeing the shells. The three slaves were already consumed by the flames, fat crackling and blood boiling as their flesh charred black. They made no movements, my borderline overdose of opiates keeping them complacent as they burned alive. Our attention focused not on the corpses but on the scaled orbs they curled around. It may have been my imagination, but they already seemed to be rocking, the creatures within awakening from their centuries-long slumber.

The black egg hatched first, rather explosively. The top half shattered to fragments as the beast within flexed and freed itself. The gorgeous black dragon swiveled its head, observing its surroundings for the first time. I reached out a hand, instinctively knowing what to do. The dragon hissed at me, before lunging to bite down on my index finger. I ignored the pain and spoke clearly in High Valyrian, magic lacing my words to make them a spell. “Oh, faithful companion and fearless friend, who will be with me until the end, I Name you Lucifer.”

I felt the connection form instantly, as the intent of my incantation mixed with the symbolic act of imbibing my blood. Lucifer’s eyes brightened from blood-red to the fiery opalescence of rubies in the sun. I felt a warm bundle of thought bloom in the corner of my mind, radiating curiosity and an all-consuming hunger. I pulled back on my finger, Lucifer hanging on stubbornly until my strength exceeded his. I scooped up the newborn animal, curling him around the back of my neck like a scarf. His claws dug to find purchase on my broad shoulders, but the pain was nothing with my maxed out tolerance.

“He’s beautiful,” Dany breathed out, sounding as taken with the winged reptile as most girls her age would be with a puppy or kitten.

“Yes, he is. And so will his siblings be. Pay attention, I think yours is ready to come out.”

The green egg had a number of cracks on its surface, rocking so violently it almost tipped over. Finally, an opening formed at the base and the dragon within crawled out of its egg, tumbling a little on its weak legs to give a summersault to land at Daenerys’ feet.

“Oh, lovely,” she breathed out. 

I placed a hand on her shoulder, channeling my magic through her. Despite the heat, goosebumps pimpled on her ash-marked flesh. “Do as I did, sweet sister. It’s important to bond as soon as possible. I’ll handle the magic, you just think of a name.”

She nodded her understanding. She held out a finger, waving it a little to entice the little dragon. With a lunge like a snake, the emerald dragon latched on. Daenerys winced, but did not cry out. She repeated my words in High Valyrian, her accent as flawless as my own. “Oh, faithful companion and fearless friend, who will be with me until the end, I Name you… Elianna.” She turned to me. “For the sisters I never met.”

“A fine name.”

Dany gasped. “I… I feel her.”

“We’re wargs now, sweet sister. In time the bond will grow, and we will live in their skins as much as our own. They were never going to be dumb beasts, but now they’ll have human-level intelligence. This is the first proper Bonding since the glory days of Valyria. You and I are the first in a new line of dragon-lords and dragon-ladies.”

Dany smiled with pride, before her eyes drifted from Elianna cradled in her arms to the white egg. “And what about the last one?”

I turned to the last of the three dragons, the only ones alive in all the world as far as I knew. It had managed to get its arms and legs through the shell and was now shaking the rest off like a dog would water. “It will have a wait a while to meet its master. For now, all I can do is grant it a name and hope it remains tame until the final head of the dragon is reunited with us.” I reached out and dabbed some blood from my finger on its forehead, working a spell quickly. “Watch and wait and grow and learn, until the one whose hand you’ll yearn. Your bond awaits, Winter.”

Winter’s eyes brightened like the others had but was not pacified. It whipped its head in all directions, searching for its master whom was still an ocean away. I only hoped my Animal Training would suffice to keep it in line.

You might be wondering at my use of ‘it’. Turns out dragons are intersex, like slugs. They fight over who will be the ‘male’ and who the ‘female’ during mating. Lucifer was a ‘he’ and Elianna a ‘she’ because they had bonded to a male and female respectively, but it was all fluid. In any case, it would make it easy to refer to the three with pronouns.

Gathering Winter in my arms, keeping a hand clasped around its head to keep it from biting me, I reached out my magic into the flames and drew them back within. Dany and I were left standing on a blackened dais, set to collapse beneath our feet. We walked slowly down the steps back to the grass, naked and unashamed, untouched by the conflagration save for some ash dusted across our bodies. The khalasar watched us with awe, some falling to their knees in worship, others itching away from us like we were nightmares made flesh. Drogo himself stood paralyzed. Selenia and Sezgin stood to the site, watching my descent with rapture in their eyes.

I knew that the next few seconds were crucial.

“I am Viserys Targaryen, Third of his Name, Rightful King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and Father of Dragons! I wield magic in one hand and the blade Lightbringer in the other. My sister is Daenerys Stormborn, Rider of Elianna, and Khaleesi to Khal Drogo. We are Valyria reborn, and with this khalasar shall conquer lands no Dothraki has ever seen!” I looked Drogo in the eye and sank to one knee. “Will you continue to host us Khal Drogo, son of Bharbo?”

My submission was important. I had to make it very clear that however fantastical I was, I still deferred to Drogo’s authority, lest I incite a mutiny among his ranks. I wasn’t taking the khalasar away from him, I was a separate entity he would eventually work with. It was a fine line to walk, maintaining independence without supplanting him, but I had faith in my OP Gary Stu-ness to see things through smoothly.

Drogo seemed to gather himself. “I took a dragon for my bride, I see no reason not to let them into my herd. Rise, Viserys the Dragon King. You and your… dragons are welcomed here.”

Daenerys beamed like the sun and nestled herself into Drogo’s side. She slid a kiss to his pec, which clearly did things for him. Eww. I turned to the Priest and Priestess of the Red God. “Selenia, Sezgin. Go get a horse and a tub. They need to be weaned on blood before we can start giving them meat.”

“At once, my lord,” they said in unison, off to do my errand.

“We’ll give these three their first meal, and then we should be able to set out. It will take a few months to make it to Vaes Dothrak for the dosh khaleen to bless your marriage, yes?”

“Yes,” Drogo said faintly, still looking down at Daenerys and the dragon in her arms in a mixture of fondness and well-hidden fear.

Selenia and Sezgin were quick in their task. They brought over a fine stallion, probably freshly bought from some Dothraki breeder in the khalasar and slit his throat to drain his life-blood into the tub. The dragons all but leapt from Dany and I, dunking their heads into the tub to guzzle down the steaming red liquid of life.

I reached out with my mind and gave a tug. The wind brought me a riding outfit from my tent, and Daenerys her vest and trousers that were my bride gift. The Dothraki surrounding us whispered and cried out at my casual display of magic, but none of them had the balls to do anything while I had three dragons at my feet.

“Viserys… you are no blood mage, yes?” Drogo asked.

“Gods, no. Blood and Shadow magic aren’t worth the risks. Demons are notoriously fickle and dangerous to work with. Besides, not all magic that uses blood is blood magic, as such. It really depends on whether you’re using it as a symbolic sacrifice or a literal unit of currency.” I saw that I was using him. “My magic is about nature, twisting and binding the elements to human will. I don’t sacrifice babes or make deals with spirits. Trust me, that’s as much a blasphemy to me as it is to you.”

“Very well.” He looked down at Dany, whom was getting dressed in front of the gods and everyone. Seems either she’d already picked up the idea of Dothraki modesty or she was still high on adrenaline from helping to birth the dragons. “Moon-of-my-life, are you a witch like your brother?”

“Nope. I asked him to teach me, but he said it’s too dangerous for me.”

“I’m not going to risk you breaking your fool neck trying to work out how to fly or burn the house down juggling fire! I had enough scares working it all out on my own. Besides, you just don’t have that much a talent for it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’m a freak really.” I said in Common, locking Drogo out of the conversation.

“You’re no freak, you’re just blessed by the gods more than any man has a right to be,” Dany countered.

“Or that. Let’s go with that.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes and tightened the laces on her vest. “There. All done.” She turned to Drogo. “My sun and stars, may I ride at your side? Elianna will be with me, of course.”

I left them to hash out the details of the day’s formation. Now that the excitement of the fire and the dragons was (just barely) starting to wane, the camp was preparing to pack up. I walked over to my own tent, trusting Lucifer to behave while I was gone. He’d be so glutted on blood by the time he stopped he wouldn’t be able to lift a wing. I made it to my tent and found the letters I’d painstakingly copied out a week ago. I ran to the edge of camp, to meet up with Illyrio as I’d arranged.

“My King, are the rumors true? I hear you set yourself on fire and emerged from the blaze with three dragons!” the obese magister demanded in a tone designed to not sound demanding. The guy was really good.

I merely grinned. “Dany and I cannot thank you enough for your bride gift, Illyrio. You may well have secured our reign.”

“R’hllor preserve us,” the cheese-monger breathed out.

“Anyway, take these.” I said, handing over the nine scrolls. “Have them sent to every House Paramount in Westeros. And if you could make sure Viserys hears about the dragons, I would appreciate it. It should substantiate some of the claims I make.”

“I take it this is your declaration of intent to Westeros?”

“The usual. Swearing vengeance against the Usurper, shaming the houses for betraying their true king while acknowledging my father was devoid of sense, painting a bright and terrifying picture of what will happen when my army finally lands on the shores… and a call to find my long-lost niece or nephew.”

Illyrio’s eyes widened. “You know?”

“I’m not talking about the Blackfyre you and Viserys have lied to from the cradle with the Golden Brothers. I mean the prince or princess that three of the Kingsguard gave their lives to protect at the Tower of Joy.”

Illyrio processed this information. “So Lyanna was pregnant. But my King, how can you be sure the child is alive?”

“Because the child was discovered by Eddard Stark, and whatever his choice of king, the Starks are known for their honor. He wouldn’t have murdered his own blood just to protect the Usurper’s reign. He or she is out there, in the Seven Kingdoms. And I want them to know we are coming for them.”

“It shall be done, my King.”

I grinned. “Take heart, Illyrio. When next we meet, it may well be in the Red Keep to confirm your appointment as my Master of Coin.”

A greedy grin of contentment formed from that smooth-tongued mouth. “I look forward to it, Viserys.”

Xxx

After that, the khalasar began its long trek east. The dragons lived for the first week off of blood twice a day, growing three times their size at birth by the end of it. After that, it was meat burnt black and plenty of it. Dany downed a buck herself with her new crossbow, which earned her the nickname ‘Iron Bow’ among the Dothraki. Their cultural aversion to women engaging in ‘masculine’ activities was beaten down by the fact that Daenerys kept a dragon in her tent. She was already ‘other’, what was one more diversion from the norm?

The first few days were rough on the both of us. We’d never engaged in long-term riding, though we were both skilled enough in our seats to mitigate the worst of the damage. I concocted healing potions to mix with our baths, which dealt with the worst of the sores and bruising, until our inner thighs were calloused and supple. We both drew strength from our dragons, the bond filling us with wisps of the magic that was as much a part of them as the blood in their veins.

I got quite the eyeful over the months, as Dany grew into confidence as khaleesi and Drogo’s woman, often taking him after dinner shamelessly, for the Dothraki believed everything of importance in a man’s life should happen under the sky. I was dismayed the first time my baby sister came up to me and asked to borrow one of my Lysene pillow books, a combination of sex manual and pornography.

“I’ve created a monster. A horny, insatiable monster that wears my sweet, innocent sister’s face!”

She eyed me with no sympathy. “Now you know how it felt to be sibling to the Dragon in Heat.”

Speaking of, my appetites hadn’t waned in the slightest. I earned a reputation among the Dothraki that rivaled that of my ‘Father of Dragons’ persona. They called me the ‘Stallion with Wings’, tales of my nightly orgies with Selenia, Sezgin, and whatever member of the khalasar caught my eye that day echoing around camp. Combined with my masterful swordplay, skill at riding, and the tricks and displays of magic I made no secret of hiding, I became a bit of a living legend among the horse people.

Inevitably, the day came when someone called out around the dinner fire “Let Viserys and Drogo fight!”

I froze from where I was feeding Lucifer a haunch I’d cooked myself. He was as big as my horse by this point, and already flying and giving off smoke with every exhale. Soon he’d be hunting down his own breakfast and dinner. I’d gotten some challenges over the weeks, those who were racist or superstitious calling me out to single combat. I’d had no hesitation in cutting them down, rationalizing that it was the Dothraki way and Drogo didn’t need close-minded men like that in his herd. An official challenge with Drogo, though, that was something else altogether. If I won, he’d have to cut his braid and just might lose the khalasar. If I lost, the shame would haunt me for months.

Of course, I was fine with taking a hit to my pride to protect Drogo and by extension Dany. But I’d rather avoid the whole situation in the first place. “Let me fight his bloodriders instead! If I cannot handle them, I certainly have no hope against Drogo!”

That seemed to appease the crowd. They quickly cleared an area. I drew Lightbringer and gave a couple swings to warm up as Cohollo stepped up. I deliberately raised a brow when he alone entered the ring. “Did you not hear me? I said I would face Drogo’s bloodriders. All three at once!”

There. That should be enough of a spectacle from one night.

Let me tell you something, there is a difference between fighting three men at once and a team of three. Cohollo, Qotho, and Haggo had served beside each other for years, knew how the others moved and fought. They came at me like a well-oiled machine, covering each other’s backs and seizing every opening I had with glee. Not that I offered them many. Lightbringer moved so fast that it looked like I was waving a silvery flag, the blade blocking, parrying, and deflecting the three arakhs with all my considerable speed. I could have moved even faster by using Wind magic, but I didn’t want any calls of cheating. I’d been the one to ask for this challenge, I’d honor it by relying on pure brawn and skill.

I was lithe and sinewy compared to the hulking builds of the Dothraki, but I was still 15 stone of lean muscle. I ducked and flipped and used my superior dexterity and agility to outmaneuver the three strength-based combatants. I eventually won the ‘spar’ (though it was easily the most violent one I’d ever had) with a scratch to Cohollo’s neck, knocking Qotho off his feet and holding my blade to his breast for a second, and by breaking Haggo’s nose with a sucker punch before scoring a line across his navel that would have had his intestines pouring out if I’d used more force.

The three stared at me, apparently at a loss at my victory. “HE CHEATS!” Qotho, the most sadistic and short-tempered, cried out in rage.

I grinned and then ran with the Wind. I circled the fire and made it back to where I started in the space of a breath. “Believe me, if I had cheated, this would have ended much faster.”

People murmured at my display of magic, though most of them were positive and in awe rather than fearful or distrustful. I’d made myself an ally, a friend to these people. I had immersed myself in their culture, lived by their way, traveled with them for weeks. I’d allowed small children to pet Lucifer when the young drake was full after meals and sleepily content. I gave some of the young unmarried women and men the best nights of their lives. I’d won this fight fair and square, and they believed me when I said as such.

Drogo spoke up. “Viserys, son of Aerys, has won this fight, blood of my blood. Cut your braids with dignity or be gone from my sight.”

That was too much for Qotho, apparently. He roared and came at me, charging blindly. Since this wasn’t an official duel, I had no qualms against using magic. I heated up his arakh until he dropped it with a hiss, and then I grabbed his throat, summoning strength from the Earth to lift him off the ground with one hand. I ignored his kicking and struggling, walking over to Lucifer, whom was waiting for me.

“Dragonfire,” I instructed in High Valyrian. Obligingly, Lucifer opened his maw and let out a stream of blood-red flame that burned white-hot. Qotho gave one high-pitched squeal, like a slaughtered pig, before going silent but for some post-mortem twitching. The flame all but vaporized him, but my hands that held him in the path weren’t so much as singed. When Lucifer closed his mouth, all that was left of Qotho were blackened bones and melted drops of bronze from the bells that had been in his hair.

“Good boy. Have your dessert,” I cooed, letting my dragon chew on the hunks of carbonized calcium.

The khalasar was quiet. I looked back at Cohollo and Haggo. Without hesitation, they reached back with daggers and cut their long braids off at the nape. They tossed the hunks of oiled hair into the fire, which burned brightly from the accelerant-laced fuel.

“Too much?” I asked Daenerys, whom sat at Drogo’s side.

“Just a tad,” she said dryly. She fed Elianna one last morsel from her hand, the dragon thinking nothing of her brother flash-frying one of the humans. Winter was handled by Selenia and Sezgin, whom always had to be wary of losing a finger. The dragon was near wild, only bowing to my authority when I used the full might of my magic and the posturing of his older, bigger siblings. The magic of the bond had accelerated their growth, so Lucifer and Elianna were the size of steeds whereas Winter was only a tad larger than a dog.

Thankfully, my act of burning the (disgraced) bloodrider didn’t lead to me getting killed. Instead, Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah came to my tent to thank me for getting rid of their mutual tormenter. So, on the whole, it was a positive experience.

The khalasar trampled the land as they made their journey, Dany and I at the head getting to see the land before us in all its beauty before 40,000 feet and hooves and cartwheels flattened it all. We passed the rolling hills of Norvos, with its bearded priests and three bells. We crossed four rivers, camped by a waterfall, and passed a blackened city, a relic of when the Valyrian freehold had first been formed by the conquest of dragon-lords. We made use of Valyrian roads, which were even more impressive than those of Rome back home. For two weeks we hiked through the Forest of Qohor, with golden-leaved trees older than the Free Cities. I tracked down and killed a ‘spotted tiger’ (cough leopard cough), making a blanket out of it for my little niece or nephew.

And Daenerys was indeed pregnant, ahead of schedule going by canon. We hadn’t even made it to the Dothraki Sea yet, but she was already getting sick in the mornings. She’d come to me, trusting my magic more than the medicine of the Dothraki, and I had sensed the life growing within her instantly.

I’d gotten choked up, I’ll admit. “I’m going to be an uncle. Nuncle Vis. And damn, Drogo has some strong swimmers. You’re already pregnant, can I cut off his balls now for touching you?”

“I quite like them where they are, actually,” Dany fired back, accepting news of her pregnancy with that same nonchalant wisdom as she had in the book. She wasn’t even fourteen yet, she shouldn’t have such a mature glow already.

“I will cut off my ears and sear the holes if you keep talking like that, Dany.”

“You said the same thing about your eyes the first time I rode Drogo after he won a duel, and yet you’re not blind yet.”

“I hate you. But I love the little one inside you. So, I’ll hold off on hating you until its safely out of you.”

Drogo took the news of his impending fatherhood quite well. He took Dany standing and then declared a night of feasting with their fluids still dripping from his cock. I got well and truly drunk for maybe the seventh time in this new life, hoping the alcohol would wash that sight from my retinas. I had yet to feel that ‘urge’, the inability to stop and regulate that had been my ruin in my first life, but I still didn’t like taking chances. I might still be a cucumber, but every second I spent with the brine was a second closer to becoming a pickle once more.

Turns out I want to bottom when I’m drunk. Sezgin couldn’t look me in the eye for a week. Having the Azor Ahai writhing under him must have given him a theocratic quandary.

We finally made it to the Dothraki sea, a seemingly endless plain of grass tall as my shoulders. Ser Jorah explained to Dany how the color changed with the seasons and the various different kinds of grasses. The man had fallen head over heels for my sister, as expected, but seemed content to merely be her bodyguard. I helped him go over the reports he sent back to Viserys, to make sure he got all the facts. He found the idea of me helping him to spy on myself confusing, but then again, I was the son of Aerys the Mad King. I was allowed a little eccentricity.

By the time we made it to the other end, Dany was swollen with her little one and the dragons were big enough to ride. I spent hours in the air, both on Lucifer’s back and flying alongside him under my own power. Winter remained scrappy and sullen, while Elianna was as sweet a creature as any dragon could possibly be. Lucifer was a born leader, clearly believing himself to be the alpha to the other two, deferring only to me, and even then, he saw me as a partner rather than a master. Considering it was my magic that allowed him to grow so fast, I was unlikely to live out my usefulness in his eyes.

We eventually walked under the Horse Gate of Vaes Dothrak, set miles out from the base of the Mother of Mountains. I noted with amusement that the giant bronze stallions were anatomically correct. The dragons flew overhead, preferring to land when we stopped rather than try and keep up on land. Graceful as they were in the air, their great size and weight made them cumbersome on land. Magic was the only thing that allowed them to fly.

Speaking of, my powers had only grown as I bonded with Lucifer and the other two. The first time I warged with him, I felt the tingle of untapped power flowing through his every cell like an electric current, and I took some of that back with me with I ended the skinchange. Magic became even easier for me, and I heard from Selenia and Sezgin that their communion with the Red God had only gotten stronger as the dragons grew.

As expected, the living incarnations of magic had brought more of the energy into the world. Where before the world’s mages had fought over a trickle or puddle, there were three untapped lakes just waiting to be utilized.

I wonder if the Alchemists back in King’s Landing had made a report to Robert about the ease of creating their magic napalm. Knowing him, it had probably gone to the Small Council and been dismissed.

We walked through the city, near deserted except for the bustling Western and Eastern Markets. Ser Jorah explained to Dany that the Dothraki did not build, that all the houses were constructed by slaves in the style of their homelands. Dany joked that one of Illyrio’s slaves had told her Drogo had a mansion of two hundred rooms with silver doors. In reality, it was a giant oaken feasting hall surrounded by horse fields for the steeds to graze, capable of having a giant tent lifted over it to block out the rain though otherwise open to the wide sky. They hall was surrounded by yurts that looked like hollow hills, which distinctly reminded me of the Shire.

Cohollo came to Daenerys. “Khaleesi, Drogo who is blood of my blood commands me to tell you he must ascend the Mother of Mountains this night to sacrifice for his safe return.”

Dany smiled at him, her fourteen-year-old face glowing from within with all the weight of both a mother and a queen. “Tell my sun-and-stars I dream of him and wait anxious for his return.” Cohollo nodded and went off, for of course he would be joining Drogo for his climb. I was curious; maybe I’d stalk them and watch the proceedings tonight.

Lucifer and the others descended then, making themselves at home in one of the open fields around Drogo’s property. The Dothraki of the khalasar moved around them without batting an eye; most of them had gotten quite used to the dragons and their habits. I went off to deal with the usual line of young children (and some teenagers) that wanted to ride one of them or at least touch them. After the crowd dispersed with smiles on their faces, I turned to Lucifer.

“We’ll be here for a while. Make sure to hunt on the other side of the mountain.”

‘If you say so, human-mine,’ sent back the black dragon with ruby eyes and wings. He and Elianna had reached the level of speech last month. They spoke exclusively in High Valyrian, the only language Dany and I spoke to them in. I suspected that they’d picked up Dothraki, but simply didn’t care what the horse people were up to. Winter remained little better than a trained lion, dangerous and temperamental in the extreme. Jon couldn’t come soon enough.

I dined with Daenerys that night, where she surprised me with raiment fit for a khal. I thanked her, accepting the clothes. Naturally I would spruce them up with Mithril-lining and protective runes before I actually wore them, but I appreciated Dany getting me the raw materials for new armor. We had both developed tans, riding for months under the sun in only vests, at times even discarding those when the heat proved too great. Apart from her Valyrian hair and eyes, Daenerys looked every inch a proud expectant Dothraki mother.

“Do you need any more elixir?” I asked. I’d created a potion that would serve as both prenatal vitamin and health booster, with a dash of psychic stimulant. Rhaego, if it was indeed the little khalakka growing inside her, would be the healthiest babe to ever be born, with an innate gift for magic. Something he’d need if he was destined to unite every khalasar as one herd. My nephew would be the most powerful man in Essos if he was successful, which I had every confidence he would be. Especially if he had a dragon of his own.

“I’m good for the rest of the moon. Thank you for asking, Vis. I only hope you’re as doting and considerate with your own wife one day.”

I shrugged. “Of course. And I’ll be the same to every other mother of my children.”

“You’re lucky that Dorne is one of the Seven Kingdoms, brother dear.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

The next day, I took Selenia and Sezgin to investigate the markets. We combed the Eastern Market, where I put out word that I would pay in Valyrian steel, gold, and the magical favor of choice to any man or woman that could procure a genuine dragon egg. They regarded me with reverence, sensing my innate power. I’m sure that the fact I sat astride Lucifer helped make the strong impression. I had, of course, surrendered Lightbringer upon entering the city, but I still stayed on guard for any potential assassins. I figured they would be less inclined to go for me when I was sitting on the back of a living, breathing creature out of a fairy tale. And if someone was dumb enough to take a shot, well, a broken neck was a bloodless death and therefore within the law of Vaes Dothrak. 

While I was out, I attempted to track down the wine merchant that in another life tried to poison my sister and her child in the womb. But the Western Market bore no fruit for my search. He must arrive in the caravan under Byan Votyris in a few weeks’ time.

Dany trained for the horse heart ceremony, getting accustomed to the taste of blood and chewing on dried horseflesh to strengthen her jaws. She starved herself for 24 hours beforehand as well. Finally, the khalasar assembled before the dosh khaleen, the widowed crones of khals past, trained in the shamanistic secrets of the Dothraki. Drogo and his bloodriders slaughtered a stallion and Drogo reached into his breast to rip out the still-beating heart. He presented it to Daenerys, a look of expectation and reassurance in his eyes over his implacable face.

I watched from the side as my sister, more than halfway through her pregnancy, chewed and swallowed one bit of the heart after another. She looked to Drogo often, drawing strength from his presence and the fierce pride in his eyes. Elianna crooned from outside; the dragon had been forbidden from entering the hall but had crowded as close to Daenerys as she could regardless. Lucifer was off on the Mother of Mountains, preening at having claimed the highest perch, while Winter remained at Drogo’s manse under the watchful eye of my two ‘religious consultants’.

Finally, it was done. Daenerys turned to face the dosh khaleen, her mouth and throat sticky with blood. “A prince rides inside me!” she bellowed, her Dothraki flawless.

The crones went mad, screaming about princes and strong boys as they began to dance and chant. Eunuchs, sworn to their service, threw bundles of grass into the fire, sending fragrant smoke up into the air towards the sky full of stars. I watched as the chanting ended and the lead crone, a withered creature with only one eye, closed the orb. I sensed the stirring of energy and realized with slight surprise that she was actually working magic, divining the future through the trance the dance and drugged smoke had sent her into.

I already had done a reading on my nephew, and confirmed that he would be strong, a proud ruler, and destined to change the world. But it would mean more to the Dothraki to hear it from the dosh khaleen than the Dragon King.

Drogo laid his arm around Dany’s shoulder as the crone broke her silence. “I have seen his face and heard the thunder of his hooves!”

“The thunder of his hooves,” echoed her inferiors.

“As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name.” A rather violent take on it, one hopefully Daenerys would be able to curb. Rhaego would be as much her son as Drogo’s, after all. “The prince is riding, and he will be the Stallion that Mounts the World!”

“The Stallion that Mounts the World!” the onlookers echoed, sending up the cry into the night air. Of course, the Dothraki messiah would have a sex metaphor for a name. 

“What shall he be called, the Stallion who Mounts the World?” questioned the one-eyed crone, looking almost afraid as she regarded Daenerys, or rather her bump.

“He shall be called Rhaego!” my sister declared, cradling her bump as the Dothraki went wild, proclaiming the name of their future khal to the heavens.

A huge procession, comprised of all the various khals in Vaes Dothrak and the cream of the crop of Drogo’s khal, made it down the godsway, the vast grassy road that ran from the Horse Gate to the Mother of Mountains. Stolen idols from a dozen civilizations looked down on them, lit by torches carried by the slaves. Elianna walked at Daenerys’s side. The dosh khaleen murmured at the proximity of the dragon but did not raise a protest. The other khals were not subtle in keeping their distance.

“What is meaning, name Rhaego?” Drogo asked, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He’d been learning for Dany’s sake, though his accent was nigh on impenetrable.

“Rhaegar was my brother who died before I was born. Viserys tells me he was an even greater warrior than Vis is and could sing so sweetly that the birds themselves stopped to listen.”

“Is good name, Daenerys wife, moon-of-my-life.”

For Drogo, that was the equivalent of gushing.

We made out way to the pond the Dothraki named the Womb of the World, where they believed the first man and first horse had risen from a million years ago. Dany ritually bathed herself, wiping the stallion’s blood from her mouth and hands. She walked out shivering, but Drogo waved away Doreah when she came forward with a robe. I averted my eyes as Drogo had a quickie with my sister then and there, giving her a hickey as he crowed “The Stallion that Mounts the World!”

I helped Daenerys up to sit astride Elianna, her silver dismissed for the moment. Smooth as the filly’s gait was, my sister felt more comfortable on the dragon’s back, whom seemed to sense exactly how to move to ease her pregnant discomfort. Dany had deemed it too risky to go flying in her condition, but she had warged with Elianna to feel the joy of flight. I was debating now whether to teach her a little Fire magic, now that her sensitivity had increased.

No one expects a little girl to pull out a flamethrower, after all.

There was a great feast, Khal Ogo and Khal Jommo (whom had four wives) sitting at Drogo’s left and right hands. Daenerys and I sat at our own table, respecting the Dothraki tradition of keeping man and wife separate at official functions. The ‘slight’ on my sister’s honor was easily ignored, considering we were the only table to have a dragon curled around us. Elianna turned out to be a mother hen, and she’d hardly let Dany out her sight, constantly poking her head in to sniff her bump and feel the motions of the baby with her tongue.

Rhaego would have a hell of a nanny, that’s all I could say.

Khal Ogo challenged my sister to prove she lived up to her ‘Iron Bow’ nickname, clearly intending to embarrass her and through her Drogo. Dany silenced him when, even gravid with pregnancy, she shot a thrown bowl right out of the air with her crossbow. Drogo grinned with pride and gave my sister a look that indicated she wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. Seriously, the guy was a machine. Of course, I was hardly one to talk.

“So, I’m set to take over Westeros, and your son will rule over Essos, or at least all of it this side of the Mother of Mountains. Maybe my son will conquer Southoryos.”

“The land beyond the Summer Isles? That’s just a rumor.”

“Yes. And so are living dragons and wizards.”

Dany pouted. “No need to make fun.” She’d thankfully had few mood swings, but I sensed I was wandering into dangerous territory.

The night ended well, especially considering I didn’t get a ‘crown’ men trembled to behold like my pathetic excuse of a counterpart had that night. The next couple weeks passed silently, as the Dothraki relaxed and enjoyed being back in their sacred city. Dany used all her pillow tricks and I all my persuasive Skills to convince Drogo that crossing the great salt sea wasn’t as scary as all that, and also that when we set out it should be to the southeast, for Slaver’s Bay and the Unsullied. Drogo had the same hesitance as pre-Columbus sailors had about sailing off the edge of the map for fear of tumbling off the edge of the world, but he had promised me the Iron Throne in exchange for Daenerys. Besides, if a Dothraki could pet a dragon without fear, then perhaps a Dothraki could ride a wooden horse across the poison water.

By this point Winter, the smallest, was the size of the elephants in the Eastern Market. They ate voraciously, though thankfully they’d yet to attack an animal that was owned by anyone. In Winter’s case, it was because all its meals were brought to it for fear it would fly off and never return, but Elianna and Lucifer honored the wishes of my sister and me.

Finally, the day came when Drogo went off to hunt the hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains, and Merchant Prince Byan Votyris led a caravan from Pentos into town.

Daenerys and I toured the Western Market, accompanied by our respective entourages. We took goods from the various stalls as gifts for our companions, gifting the traders in turn with gold and silver medallions. Finally, we came to a blond wine merchant.

“I have sweet reds, from Lys and Volantis and the Arbor. Whites from Lys, Tyroshi pear brandy, firewine, pepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr. Smokeberry browns and Andalish sours, I have them, I have them.” When he saw us coming near, he bowed low. “A taste for the khal and khaleesi?”

Well, that was new. No one had mistaken us for a couple before. I moved past my nausea at that thought. “Have you any stock worthy of a Targaryen?” I asked, with a certain pigheadedness. I felt Dany stiffen beside me. She recognized that line. I’d used it to sniff out spies and cutthroats from Robert while she was growing up.

The Lysene man bowed low. “My prince.”

“King,” I corrected, maintaining the role of clueless, arrogant royal.

“King, yes of course.” He got up, a curious gleam in his eye. “I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable.” He heaved up the cask in question. “See, the Redwyne sigil, for the Arbor. There is no finer drink.”

“Let us have a taste. I remember fondly the taste of Redwyne vines, before the Usurper ousted us from our rightful home.”

“Of course, of course.” The wine merchant hesitated for just a moment, then took his hammer and began to knock the plug from the cask.

Ser Jorah, whom had left earlier to check for post from the caravan leader, came back. “My king,” he began.

“I have it handled, Ser Jorah.” I sent him a look.

“It would be a crime to drink a wine this rich without letting it breathe,” the wine merchant tried to delay, his plan of us simply buying the wine and being poisoned later falling apart around his ears.

“Let me at least savor the aroma,” I commanded rather than asked.

That seamed to appease him. “Naturally, my king,” he said, pouring a few drops into the thimble-sized glasses he’d used to offer samples of his wares.

I took a deep sniff of the Arbor red. I actually could detect the subtle poison laced within it. “Tell me, wine-seller, how much did the Baratheon pretender offer for my or my sister’s death? A few thousand gold dragons? Perhaps lands and a lordship?”

The man didn’t bother trying to deny it. Instead, he flung the cask at Dany and vaulted over the stall. I halted the wooden barrel with Wind and reached for the Water in the wine. It poured out like a living thing, racing after the fleeing poisoner. He gave a wet yelp as the contents of the cask surrounded his head, staying in place no matter how much he struggled or batted at it with his hands. I’m not sure whether the drowning or the poison got to him first, but he collapsed to the ground dead. A bloodless death, even if magic was involved, so the Dothraki shouldn’t raise a stink.

Lucifer came down from where he’d been gliding over us. There was the expected commotion; these men were freshly arrived from the west, they probably hadn’t had time to hear the rumors of the dragons. He sniffed at the dead body, but I called out “No, Lucifer. He’s scum, would just spoil your appetite.”

‘I’ve yet to taste man-flesh.’ He grumbled in my mind. Qotho didn’t count, since all the meat had gone up in smoke under the heat of Lucifer’s hottest flame.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get the chance soon enough.”

“Seven Hells,” muttered a young voice.

I turned and felt like I was looking at a ghost. The black hair was pure Stark, as were the harsh cheekbones, barely touched with lingering baby fat. But I recognized my brother’s eyes and chin. The albino direwolf at his side was also a dead giveaway. An elderly knight with a truly impressive set of sideburns was at his side.

“Darling nephew. How nice to finally meet. Forgive me, where are my manners? I am Viserys, and beside me are your aunt Daenerys and little cousin Rhaego within her.” I reached out a hand. “Tell me, what name did Lord Eddard use to hide your identity all these years?”

 

“… Jon Snow,” the youth barely any older than Daenerys spoke up. “How did you know it was me.”

“Anyone who knew your father and mother can see you are their son, if they care to look closely.” I noted the flinch. Guess he was still processing the fact his whole life was a lie, months after the fact was revealed. Not that I could blame him. “You can keep your first name, we all get so attached to them. But make no mistake, you are a true-born Targaryen. Rhaegar and Lyanna were married before a heart-tree, in the tradition of the Old Ways. You are no bastard, Jon.”

“No. But a war was fought over the circumstances of my birth.” The sullenness in his voice was pure broody teenager.

“You can’t hold yourself accountable for that. Rhaegar cocked thing sup by eloping with your mother, your grandparents argued with disastrous consequences, and a hot-headed idiot decided the time was right for a dynasty change. It was no one’s fault, just a particularly bloody turn of the game of thrones.” I reached out and embraced him, taking him by surprise. “We have much to discuss. But if you take nothing else from my words today, know that you were born from love, and you are among family now.”

“… Okay,” he whispered stiffly. I pulled back and crouched to rub Ghost’s ear. The direwolf allowed my touch, apparently deeming me worthy. “A fine companion for a Stark prince. Does he have a name?”

“Ghost,” Jon said, beaming with pride, at least as much as he could while trying to maintain a stoic expression.

“Tell me, have you started to dream through his eyes yet?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Magic runs deep in our blood. Most particularly with me, but you are doubly blessed for having the blood of both the First Men and Old Valyria in your veins. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t a warg.”

“Wargs aren’t real. They’re just stories,” spoke up the old knight hovering awkwardly by the side.

I raised a brow and gestured behind my back at Lucifer, who had walked up to the group and was eyeing Jon with vague interest. “As you can see, Ser Rodrick Cassel, some stories turn out to be true.”

“How do you know my name?” the elderly Master-at-Arms of Winterfell demanded.

“Have care how you speak. You are addressing your rightful king,” Ser Jorah spoke up.

“Robert is my lord’s king, and so my own. And I have no care for the word of a slaver, Mormont.” Cassel had the balls to spit.

“It’s true what they say. You Northmen are so stiff with prideful honor it’s like you have a stick shoved up your ass. Does the term ‘extenuating circumstances’ mean anything to you? The world is not black and white, simpler as it would be if it were.” I shook my head. “In any case, this isn’t a conversation to have in a marketplace. Come, follow us back to Khal Drogo’s manse.”

We walked them back, with Jon’s eyes being drawn to Winter when we passed its enclosure. The white dragon paused in its usual pacing, its head tracking Jon like a compass pointing to true north.

We gathered in the hollow hill afforded to my personal use, Daenerys joining me, eager to get to know this new addition to the family. We discussed the details of Jon’s journey to Vaes Dothrak. Apparently, my letters had caused quite the stir. Lord Eddard Stark, fearing Robert would work out Jon’s parentage from the clues I’d left, had instructed him to sneak out of Winterfell in the dead of night, armed only with a bag full of dragons and one of his most trusted men as a guard. They’d gone to White Harbor, taking a ship to Pentos. From there, they followed up on the rumors of the Targaryen prince and princess going off to the Dothraki city. They’d been tracked down and hosted by Illyrio, of course; nothing happened in Pentos that he didn’t know about. He’d even paid for their passage in the caravan. I reminded myself to gift him with something shiny when next we met.

“Clearly, Lord Stark believes you are safer with us than staying in Westeros, where Robert I hear still flies into a rage at the mere mention of Rhaegar or any ‘dragonspawn’.” I rubbed my chin, which was smooth as always. Beards didn’t work with me, and I’d seared the follicles with Fire magic in my teens. “I wonder if he knew the full consequences of his actions, though. For now, we have a rider for our third dragon.”

Jon sat up. “Three? You have three dragons?”

“Yes. A bride gift from Illyrio to Dany here.”

“What no one knew was that Vis had already worked out the secret of making them hatch. He caused quite the stir the next day. Have you heard the tales of the Father of Dragons?” Dany asked, lying back on a heap of pillows. She was only a month or two from popping at this point.

“We thought them mere tales of fancy,” Ser Rodrick confessed. He’d yet to relax since entering the earthen hammock.

“You already met Lucifer. Elianna is off hunting. And you saw Winter outside.” I grinned conspiratorially with Jon. “He’s been quite the nuisance without a proper rider to bond to. Hopefully, you can calm him down and mellow him out. Though I suspect he’ll always be the most vicious of the lot. Growing up the runt of the litter tends to toughen one up.” I tilted my head at Ghost, who now stood tall and proud.

We led Jon out to Winter, who tilted down his head to regard Jon with one bowl-sized eye.

“Prick your finger on his teeth, let him have a few drops of your blood. Do that and he’ll love you forever, and you can start learning to ride and warg with him.” I tried to sound wise and all-knowing, playing on the age card as much as I could.

With more courage than any boy his age should be able to scrounge up, Jon reached out and laid his hand trustingly in Winter’s mouth. The dragon bit down gently, all tension leaving his body as the Bond I’d left half-formed at his birth was finally completed.

The three heads of the dragon were united.

We rode out from Vaes Dothrak the next day. Off to pillage the Milk Men of the steppes on our way to Qarth on the Jade Sea, where reinforcements and supplies from Illyrio would be waiting for us. From there, we would conquer the cities of Slaver’s Bay, building an army of Unsullied and freed slaves. From there, it was a matter of loading up the ships and making for Dorne.

Aegon’s Conquest would be reenacted. With myself astride Lucifer, a (hopefully not pregnant) Daenerys on Elianna, and the bastard-turned-prince Jon on Winter.

The world wouldn’t know what hit it.

Xxx

There we go. Took me a few months, but I managed to update. Flame or fan mail, please leave a review. May this chapter tickle your fancy and brighten your day. Farewell until next we meet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaego's birth and Qarth shenanigans.

Rhaego’s birth and Qarth shenanigans. Should be enough to fill a chapter, right? Let’s get this show on the road.

Xxx

Two swords clashed. Both combatants were sweating and shirtless, with the younger panting for breath while the older remained smooth and measured. In another flurry of blows, the blond kicked out at the other’s knee, sending him sprawling. When the flattened swordsman looked up, it was to a blade at his throat.

“You still fight like a Northman, dear nephew,” I said to Jon. “Stiff, angular, and held back by your thrice-damned honor.”

“Well, if you’d stop cheating,” he sneered, reaching up to rub his jaw. I’d socked him in an earlier bout.

“I’m not cheating. I’m fighting to win. I’ve fought in each of the Free Cities and among the Dothraki. I know the iron dance of the Seven Kingdoms, the water dance of Braavos, the silk dance of Lys, the fire dance of Old Valyria, and the horse dance of the Dothraki. I pick and choose which moves to use as befits the fight from moment to moment.” I sighed. “I don’t mean to brag. I’m just trying to make you realize that there are no ‘rules’ in a fight. It doesn’t matter if you win with a clean thrust to the heart, hacking off a limb, or a kick to the groin. All that matters is if you walk away afterward. Just because you hold yourself back doesn’t mean your opponent will.” 

“Still, you’re getting better,” Dany spoke up from the side. “You lasted a whole minute that time. The longest I’ve gone is three when he didn’t hold back.”

“Well, I held back a little. Couldn’t risk ruining that pretty face, sweet sister,” I said teasingly.

She huffed, reaching down to rub her bump. She looked like she’d swallowed a watermelon whole. If Rhaego was under a half stone, I’d eat my dirty socks. 

Ser Rodrick Cassel stood to the side with Ghost. “You fight like a savage, but you are skilled,” he said grudgingly.

“Ser Cassel,” I said sharply. “When we’re all alone, speak to me as you wish. I honestly don’t care about the barbs you sling. But if you question me in front of the Dothraki, I’ll be forced to defend myself. And that wouldn’t work out well for you, now would it?”

Jon sighed and got back to his feet. He swung around his bastard Valyrian sword, a gift from me to make up for 15 missed name-days. He’d named it Frost, in clear reference to the ancestral Stark blade Ice. “Again.”

The sun was full above the horizon when we’d started training together. It was gone beneath the horizon before Jon finally admitted defeat.

I handed him a bladder filled with fluid. “Pour enough of this to cover the bottom of your tub before you add the water. You’ll wake up as if all this never happened, except for the callouses and strengthened muscles.”

Jon shook his head. “I still don’t know which scares me more: your swordsmanship or your sorcery.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t worry. You get used to his madness after a time,” Daenerys spoke up, coming over to kiss Jon on the cheek. He blushed all the way down to his chest at having a pretty girl so close, especially when he was half-naked. God, Northmen were prudes. Dany waddled away, trailed by her handmaidens, to Elianna and the cookfire where Drogo rested.

I took a second to warg with Lucifer. ‘Any change?’

‘The other horse-men are camped on the other side of the village. I still say we should take them now, human-mine.’

‘Patience, my bloodthirsty friend. Better to have them distracted with their little sacking before we strike. You can have your fill of man-flesh from the corpses tomorrow.’

‘Very well,’ the great beast grumbled in my mind.

We were near a village of Lhazareen, a peaceful people the Dothraki mocked as the Lamb Men. Khal Ogo and his khalasar were set to raid the poor village. Drogo planned to raid the rival khalasar in the confusion. We’d positioned ourselves behind a hill and made carefully sure to avoid being seen by any scouts. The fires were banked low tonight, and most of the khalasar had to make do with dried food to avoid the smell of cooking meat and smoke drifting on the wind and giving us away. Only the elite of the khal had the privilege of a hot meal tonight, which I was unashamed to count myself among.

The events of tomorrow weighed heavy on my mind. I’d be fighting alongside Drogo on the frontlines, while Jon had declined to engage in a mindless slaughter and Dany was too swollen to partake even if she wanted to. I’d try to make sure Drogo didn’t suffer the grievous wound he had in canon and heal the damage without the questionable influence of one Mirri Maz Duur. But it was what would happen after the battle that really bothered me.

Dany and I had done our best to civilize Drogo and his khalasar, in what ways we could. But while Drogo humored Dany’s ideas and heeded my words with consideration, he was still at heart a born-and-raised Dothraki. He believed in the traditional Dothraki way of doing things. And the prize for any man who spilled blood fighting for his khal was his pick of the women slaves afterward.

There would be a lot of raping and looting tomorrow, to say nothing of the needless killing. And there was no way I could stop it without usurping Drogo’s authority. I couldn’t declare it off-limits with Lucifer at my back to cow anyone who objected, and if Drogo announced a ban himself he’d be challenged by a great many of his officers or ‘kos’. Tomorrow was going to be ugly, an assault of rabid men on weeping women, and any who stood up in defiance would be painfully cut down for sport. Many of the girls would be orphans or widows by the end of the day, their children facing a life of slavery in the khalasar. And sure, they’d be treated as well as any of Drogo’s slaves, which was a fair step above the standard for this ass-backwards culture, but they’d still be slaves.

“For the Iron Throne,” I reminded myself. For my birthright, even if Jon technically had first claim. He’d cheerfully abdicated when I’d pointed that out, I had a signed letter and everything. He’d barely come to terms with being a Targaryen prince; he had no desire to become a Targaryen king. Tomorrow would be savage, but I was working with savages. If I wanted Drogo’s cavalry, I had to play along with his rules. I’d ‘claim’ as many women as I could tomorrow, and Dany would undoubtedly repeat her act from the book, but that was the best we could do.

I reminded myself that tomorrow would be nothing compared to the cities of Slaver’s Bay. I wasn’t sure if that thought made me more or less uncomfortable.

Well, at least I had Sezgin and Selenia to distract myself with.

Xxx

An hour after the battle had died down, I still couldn’t decide which sound bothered me more: the wet gurgle of a war cry being cut off, or the wailing of the survivors. Both were damaging to the heart and soul in their own way. No wonder Robert had PTSD, if this was what medieval warfare was really like.

Still, in the heat of the moment, I had been merciless. Most of the Lhazareen had been smart enough to lay down their arms when they saw me mix magic and martial arts, but some of them had still fought against me. All had died by my blade or the flames that moved like living things around me. Khal Ogo’s men, though, had seen no hesitance from me. The weak die and the strong survive. This was the Dothraki way. To offer a rival the chance to surrender was to dishonor both him and you.

Lucifer had done his part early on in making a wall of flames to prevent retreat. After that, he’d done a good enough job breaking morale by feasting on the corpses of the fallen, turning any man fool enough to charge a dragon into ash. I could sense nothing but gluttonous contentment from him as he compared the taste of sheep and shepherd.

Despite my sincerest efforts to be as distracting and attention-grabbing as possible with my Fire magic and attacks, Drogo had still gotten the cut to his left pectoral from Ogo’s bloodrider. The light-footed giant had repaid the man with a sliced throat and gone on to kill both Ogo and his son Fogo, killing two khals in the space of ten minutes. Drogo’s bloodriders had cut the bells from their braids and sown them into Drogo’s, so his every step was even louder.

I sent Jorah off to escort Dany through the broken city to her husband and brother. I had fought in Dothraki vestments, albeit with Mithril sewn into them, while the Mormont had fought in full armor. The few Dothraki who had mocked him for putting on ‘metal skin’ had been cut down by the exiled bear’s longsword. 

I was now arguing with my good-brother about letting me heal him.

“Many riders are hurt,” Drogo protested. “This little cut is only a scar to boast of to my son.”

“Your son won’t have you to boast to him if you leave that untreated,” I countered. “Drogo, you are my sister’s sun-and-stars. I would not have her see you with such a wound and be troubled. What ails her will ail your son, the Stallion that Mounts the World, inside her.” I glanced at his bloodriders arranged around him. Cohollo and Haggo looked away, their braids still barely past their necks after our duel months ago. Jhaqo, recently promoted from ko to Drogo’s bloodrider to replace the void left by Qotho, eyed me though. I bent the Wind around us to mask my voice. “For all the gods sake, Drogo, just let me fucking fix you before Dany faints at the sight of you.”

Drogo wilted. My sister was his weak spot. “Very well, Viserys.”

Acting quickly, because every moment I left that wound open was a chance for more bacteria to fester, I commenced with magical field surgery. I poured a healing potion from a flask I saved for emergencies, guiding it with Water magic to soak into the wound. It had a numbing effect, so Drogo barely winced. I summoned up Earth to cover the wound with healing mud, packing in the open wound until it was sealed tight. I waited a beat, and then conjured Fire in my hand and held it to the mud. It dried and cracked off, revealing the pinkish-purple of fresh scar tissue.

“There. All done. There’s your scar to brag to little Rhaego about. And all the other little munchkins you and my sister cook up.”

Drogo scrunched his brow, looking up from looking at the healed wound with muted awe. “Munchkin? Cook?”

“A slang word in Common Tongue, meaning ‘child’ or ‘small person’. And there’s some people who alike a child growing in the womb to a bun baking in an oven. So, a man and woman ‘cook up’ a child together.” I waved my hand. “Never mind. Just take it as one of those odd things I say.”

“You have a great many odd phrases, even some that confuse the moon-of-my-life.”

“Well, I had a very different upbringing than her. I was out in the Free Cities earning our keep while she was safe at whatever house we’d found. I picked up a few things.” And thousands of points of XP, which had culminated in my frankly ridiculous maxed-out stats and Skills.

It honestly had felt a bit like a game, cutting down all those men or burning them alive. I’d have to keep an eye on that, lest I turn into the second coming of my dear old man.

At that moment, there was a fuss among the captured Lamb Men and Ogo’s former khal. I turned and wasn’t surprised to see Dany on her silver with Elianna trailing behind her. The streets were barely large enough to contain the dragon’s bulk. I was a bit surprised to see Jon beside her. He looked faintly green. I felt a stab of pity for him; he’d have nightmares tonight, I was sure. The sight of all the carnage and the fate worse than death that befell the survivors was enough to turn my stomach, let alone an unblooded teenager.

I walked over to him while Dany greeted her husband. “Where’s Winter?”

“He… was hungry,” Jon answered faintly.

“A bit harder to watch than a clean execution, isn’t it?”

“How… how can people do this to each other?” he asked, sounding his age for once.

“There’s no good answer. I tell myself it’s necessary to my goals. The simple fact is, the fight happened. And in a fight, it’s me or them. The best I can do is learn to live with the lives I’ve taken and do my best to make sure there are as few fights as possible going forward.”

“Will… when we return home, will you do this kind of thing to the North?”

I sighed. “Only if they oppose me.” It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but I’d promised not to lie to him.

He grit his teeth. But he nodded.

I turned back when I heard a commotion. A man named Mago was gesticulating, ranting in angry Dothraki that Daenerys had taken his spoils. Drogo looked to Dany. “Is this true, moon-of-my-life?” he asked in Common.

My sister held her head high “This is the way of war, yes? These women are slaves, to do with as the khal pleases. As khaleesi, it pleases me to see them safe.” She turned to Mago. “Yes, I took the slave from him. Am I not khaleesi, the blood of the dragon, rider of the mighty Elianna?” As if on cue, and I wouldn’t discount a touch of warging, Elianna roared out at that moment. Almost every horse jolted, except for Dany’s silver. Elianna looked on my sister’s other mount with the fond air one would give to a pet. The two were an unlikely set of animal friends, but their bond was true.

“I would claim every Lamb woman. Let the riders slake themselves on Ogo’s lost khal or find one of our own to take to wife. But these sheep girls are mine.” Daenerys Stormborn stated in the silence that followed in the wake of the great beast’s call. I had never been prouder of my baby sister.

Drogo was grinning. “See how fierce she is? A fine mother the dragon makes for the Stallion that Mounts the World. My son will share her fire.” Drogo stood up. “Send word. All the female slaves taken from the village are property of the khaleesi. Mago, find a good Dothraki girl to mount. The sheep belong to my wife.” Drogo reached out to take Dany in his arms, giving her a fierce kiss. Thankfully they didn’t do more than make out.

While the Dothraki reluctantly went to tell men mid-rut they had to stop, I turned to one of the women huddled by Dany’s silver, flanked by her handmaidens. I stepped over to them. I had used Channeling magic in the aftermath of the battle to learn the history of the village, to absorb the feel and shape of the psychic imprints left by generations of life. Emotionally taxing, yes. But it had the handy benefit of letting me learn a language within an hour.

“Be at peace, Lhazareen,” I called out in their own tongue. They jumped, turning to gape at me. Some of the Dothraki turned to stare, but Elianna proved enough of a buffer. “My sister has claimed you, as well as all the women of this village. You all are under her protection. You will not be raped… anymore,” I tacked on, aware of how hollow an assurance that was. Still, some of them softened and relaxed. “Now, who is godswife to this temple?”

“I am,” said a flat-nosed woman of around forty. “I am Mirri Maz Duur, trained in the healing arts.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “The stain of blood magic flows from you, ‘healer’.”

She hesitated. “Sometimes death must pay for life.”

I thought about how the dragons had been born. “True enough. But you deal with questionable merchants as like to cheat you as trade with you.” I summoned Fire to twist around my fingers. The Lamb women flinched and cried out, while Mirri Maz Duur paled. “As I said, you are under my sister’s protection. That’s the only reason I don’t slay you where you stand for the risk you pose to her.” I walked forward to look her dead in the eye, our noses almost touching. “You think you have nothing left to live for. You think the life my sister gifted you is hollow, with your flock slaughtered and enslaved, and three men’s seed dripping unwanted from your womanhood. But know this: if you are anything less than her most grateful and faithful servant from this moment on, if you so much as think of doing her or our family harm, you will beg for death before I am halfway done with you.”

Her eyes widened. “The Great Shepherd made Flesh,” she breathed. “The Red Priests call you Azor Ahai, do they not?”

I raised a brow. “Am I prophesied even in your culture, as well? I had no idea I’d be so popular just for being born.”

Mirri Maz Duur bowed low. “Worry not, my lord. Your sister, her children, even her husband will come to no harm while I draw breath.” She gave a sardonic smile. “After all, we are all one flock.”

“And the wolves are waiting in the Sunset Kingdoms.” I added. “If it’s any comfort, know that all this was part of the price I must pay to get to where I must and face them.”

She looked down. “As you say, my lord.”

“Vis? What are you saying?”

I turned to Dany. “Oh, just getting to know your new toys. I believe I might have found you the ideal midwife. This is Mirri Maz Duur. She is well trained in healing, having learned from her Lhazareen mother, the mages of Asshai, a moonsinger of the Jogos Nhai, a Dothraki herbwoman, and even a maester of the Citadel. You lucked out with her, sweet sister.”

Dany grinned. “Truly?”

“Yes, Silver Lady,” Mirri said in the Common Tongue. She eyed me with barely hidden awe. She had no way of knowing that my knowledge came from the books rather than divine enlightenment… though the two were practically the same thing when you thought about it, in this world.

“I won’t even ask how you learned their language so fast. It’s just like you to do six impossible things a day.”

I smiled at Daenerys. “You know me so well.”

Xxx

We made for Qarth, Drogo’s herd as large as it had ever been. Jorah rose the point that Meereen was closer and would pay more for Ogo’s captured khalasar, but I insisted and made sure Drogo agreed with me. Qarth had Quaithe and shade-of-the-evening, both of which I was eager to meet and ‘experiment’ with. Besides, it’s where I had instructed Illyrio to send ships with supplies and any ‘exiles’ from the Seven Kingdoms.

So sue me, I wanted to test myself against THE Barristan Selmy. Plus, I needed the excuse that they brought news from the west to explain my reasoning for future actions.

Rhaego’s due date came and went. Dany reported that he stirred within her, kicking like a frightened horse, but she’d yet to feel the deep aches other women had told her foretold birth. I had an idea what little Rhaego was waiting for. I did my best to keep my sister comfortable as she only got bigger. I was assisted by Mirri Maz Duur, whom had apparently found new purpose in life as my sister’s shadow. Guess coming face to face with her culture’s messiah had stopped her from becoming a bitter shrew. That, or she was taking my threat seriously. In either case, the Lhazareen woman was never far from Daenerys, as much her handmaiden as Irri or Doreah.

Sure enough, a red comet was just becoming visible in the sky as the sun came near the horizon when Dany cried out.

Drogo carried her himself to the birthing tent, looking half-panicked and half-giddy. I reminded myself that this was the birth of his first (legitimate) son. Plus, he thought the sun shone out my sister’s ass, as far as he was concerned. Then he sat himself down at the closed entrance, flanked by his bloodriders, as Elianna wrapped herself into a coil on the other side of the tent. Excited voices talked over fires as the khalasar made camp, the birth of the Stallion that Mounts the World spreading like wildfire from mouth to ear.

I stood and paced, trying not to flinch when I heard Dany scream with each contraction. What had I been thinking? She was younger even than Jon. She had no business having children, forget the ‘if it bleeds, it breeds’ attitude most of this world ascribed to. Drogo was tall and broad, of course his spawn would be considerably large. Perhaps too large for Dany to safely deliver. Did Mirri Maz Duur know how to do a caesarean? Was that even a thing in this world?

“Shouldn’t you be in there? You have your magic to help, right?” Jon asked, petting Ghost with one hand and rubbing Winter’s snout with the other. The two albinos didn’t have nearly as warm a relationship as Elianna and Dany’s silver. Winter tolerated Ghost the way a tiger would tolerate a puppy. It probably helped that Jon could warg with both, so they had psychic echoes of the other to acclimate to and make them more accepting of each other.

“Only women and eunuchs in a birthing tent. It’s the Dothraki way. I’m not going to spit on their traditions like that.” I winced as a particularly shrill cry came from the tent. “Besides, I’d probably do more harm than good. I can’t concentrate with her screaming like that.”

“I remember when my sister, I mean, cousin Arya was born. If it’s any consolation, Lady Stark sounded twice as bad and both of them were perfectly fine afterwards.”

I looked up at the sky. The comet was like a trail of fire in the night, outshining the stars that were beginning to appear. The fires were just being lit. “I’m going to go get my birthing gift. With my luck, Rhaego will be born the moment I’m out of earshot. And then this will be over.”

I ran back to my tent, using Wind magic to be superfast. I nodded to Sezgin and Selenia, whom were wrapped intimately on my bed. Naturally, with all the time the three of us spent together amorously, the two had formed a bond of their own. They were not particularly concerned with the birth of the Stallion, convinced that Rhaego was not the Prince that was Promised so he was of little interest to them. I found the gift I’d carefully guarded and kept secret since I’d found it, lifting it from its chest and returning to the birthing tent the long way, it tucked under my arm.

Dany’s moaning and yelling could be heard from a spear’s throw away. I hesitated a second but continued walking forward. When I finally got back to where Drogo and the others were anxiously waiting, the noise we’d all been waiting for followed in the wake of Dany’s loudest scream yet.

The wailing of a babe.

We waited about a half hour more, as Dany recovered and Rhaego had his first meal. Then, on legs as shaky but strong as a young colt, Daenerys walked out of the birthing tent, a little bundle wrapped in her arms.

“Daenerys,” Drogo breathed out like a prayer. He walked forward, looking scared for the first time since I’d known him. “Is he…”

“Strong and hearty as his father,” Dany said, with a tired smile on her face glowing with sweat. She held the little bundle out. “I present you Rhaego, son of Drogo, the Stallion that will Mount the World.”

Drogo took the little bundle. Your average baby he could hold in one hand, but this one needed both to support. No wonder Dany had been so loud. “I have a son,” Drogo said, gazing down into the baby’s face with a look of wonder and pride. He looked up at Dany and leaned forward to kiss her full on the mouth. “You have given me the greatest gift of all, moon-of-my-life.”

Dany smiled and stepped forward, looking down at her son held in her husband’s arms. “I am happy to give it, my sun-and-stars.”

The new family had a tender moment, just to themselves. Then Drogo turned. Taking a second to make sure his hold was steady, he raised the little bundle high above his head. “The prince is born!”

“The prince is born!” echoed a thousand voices, the gathered masses screaming with joy at their khal’s proclamation.

Drogo’s stallion was brought forward. It was important that a Dothraki babe experience horseback as soon as possible, to begin their training from the very start. Tucking Rhaego into his arm, Drogo took off at a light trot, going forth to spread the news and show off the newborn to every corner of the khalasar. Tonight would be a night of feasting and revelry. The Stallion that Mounts the World had been born healthy and whole. Now it was just a matter of time before all the khalasars were united beneath the one true khal.

I walked up to Dany, watching her men ride off with a smile. “So, does it hurt as much as they say?”

She scoffed. “No worse than dealing with you for fourteen years.”

“I’m hurt, sister. Truly hurt.” I smiled and kissed her brow. “Congratulations. You did it. He’s here.”

“I never knew I could love someone so much,” she confessed. “I’ve only held him once and my arms feel empty without him in them.”

“From what I hear, that feeling never goes away. That’s why it’s so hard for parents to let their children go off to live their own lives.” I wrapped an arm around her. “He’s yours and Drogo’s, sweet sister, and but he’s also his own person. He’s yours to protect, but never to stifle.” I searched for the right thing to say. “Grandmother told Mother something when Rhaegar was born. She told it to me on the eve of your birth.”

“What was it?”

“ ‘From now on, you are only here to be a memory for your children.’ That’s the role of a parent. To guide, to teach, to shape, and to die before them.”

Dany gave a tired smile. “I miss her. I know I shouldn’t, because I never knew her…”

“None of that, now. You only knew her for a few minutes after you were born, but she was still your mother. It’s perfectly fine to miss her.”

She smiled and pulled back. Her eyes lit on the cloth-wrapped shape tucked under my right arm. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Never underestimate the markets of Vaes Dothrak. Or the power of human greed.” I grinned and lifted a corner of the wrapping. The gleam of dragon scales glittered in the flickering torchlight. “For now, it will just be a very pretty addition to his bed. Gods willing, we’ll hatch it with him when he’s old enough.”

“He’ll never be old enough,” she said stubbornly.

“Hark who’s talking. You were only thirteen when Elianna hatched.”

“Damn it. I hate when you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Turns out, even exhausted from five hours of labor, Daenerys packed a mean punch.

Xxx

The next day, most of the riders were sluggish and churlish, being hungover from the orgiastic party the night before. I hadn’t seen the Dothraki celebrate so hard since Dany and Drogo’s wedding. The guest of honor spent most of his time in Drogo’s arms. The fierce warrior proved to be very clingy of his newborn son, almost refusing to hand him over to Dany and her handmaidens when he cried out for milk or soiled himself. I found it adorable. Dany did too, I could tell by her smile.

It took four months of following the coast, when we finally came upon Qarth. Dany’s 15th name-day came and went with a small celebration, but the herd continued with its plodding voyage. The massive khalasar was met by heralds from the city. The Jade Sea was less used Dothraki hordes than the Free Cities, but the general procedure was still the same: ply them with gifts to avoid pillage and siege. We made camp a far enough from the city walls to leave them comfortable but close enough that they couldn’t forget our presence. The dragons undoubtedly drew attention; I’d had Dany and Jon deliberately fly with me over the water and land back at the camp after I was sure we’d drawn half the eyes of the city. Much higher-ranking officials would be sent to visit us the next day.

I looked on the Queen of Cities. Intellectually, I knew it was an expy of Istanbul, being the gateway between the West and East and a powerful port, not to mention the general architecture. Still, like everything in the Song of Ice and Fire, the effect was twice as grand, opulent, and truly awe-inspiring as any city on Earth. That’s the wonder of having actual magic to assist in building giant structures that were as much feats of art as engineering. The triple walls had easily earned their status as one of the Nine Wonders of this world, and the bustling port was a feast for the eyes, ships of the various trade guilds and civilizations from every corner of the planet clustered together. The Hall of a Thousand Thrones stood at the center of it all, a palace that made Agrabah’s seem quaint and modest.

“Good to be home, Sezgin?” I asked my companion.

“My home is with you and my Selenia, my prince. But yes, it is comforting to be back in the lands of my birth,” the pale Red Priest answered.

“So, you think I should petition the Pureborn or just try and buy a fleet from the Thirteen?”

Sezgin chuckled. “I’m sure you plan to go to both.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Hardly. I just know you well.” Sezgin was silent for a beat. “My prince…”

“Selenia is pregnant. Three months along, by my guess.”

Sezgin let out a relieved sigh. “You are not upset? You are aware that with our magics granted us by the Lord of Light, such a thing should not be possible without her consent. And yet she swears this was unintentional.”

“I’ve got so much magic, I’d be surprised if it didn’t interfere with others when we’ve spent prolonged contact with each other. Besides, a fuck is no time to be focusing on holding a spell.” I turned to clap him on the shoulder. “This is a good thing, my friend. I’m not sure which of us is the father, and I don’t really care. We’ll raise the babe together, the three of us. And when life inevitably forces me to settle down and marry, I’ll keep you in my life regardless.”

Sezgin seemed overtaken. “Viserys…”

We tracked down Selenia and retreated to my tent. That night easily made my top five of all time.

The next day, three representatives of the city came to visit the camp. They were escorted to the center of the khalasar, where they found Drogo, Daenerys, and myself. Drogo was in horsehair vest and trousers, his hair gleaming with oil and more decked with golden bells than your average Christmas tree had ornaments, looking every inch the Dothraki horse-lord. Dany wore a Qartheen gown of the finest silk, one of the gifts given to the khaleesi the previous day. It barred one breast, which was still heavy-laden with milk and red from her most recent feeding of Rhaego. Jon, I, and the other Westerosi averted our eyes when we looked at her, but the others all eyed her with appreciation, Drogo most of all. I wore the same outfit I’d worn to introduce Dany to Drogo, using subtle Wind magic to keep me cool in the ebon black despite the blazing sun. Jon stood beside me, in similar vestments. He seemed to wear the red dragon of Targaryen with pride the way he never had the grey direwolf of Stark. We had each of our attendants arranged around us: Drogo with his bloodriders, Dany with her handmaidens and bodyguards, me with the Red Priests and the Westerosi knights. Behind us, the three dragons Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter rested, each the size of a whale with wings. Winter had a bit of a growth spurt after bonding with Jon.

I was a tad surprised to see that we got the same representatives as a widowed Daenerys had in the books. Xaro Xhoan Daxos stood at the front of the party, jewels and silks gleaming against his Summer Islander skin. The exiled prince turned merchant was flanked by a man and a woman. The man wore a grey robe that looked like dead skin, his neck was freakishly long, and his lips were blue. The woman was covered in black from head to toe, her face hidden behind a red lacquer mask, her eyes wet and shiny behind it.

“Name yourselves and state your purpose here,” Drogo commanded in Dothraki. He wasn’t just a good warrior, he could be quite the diplomat when the situation called for it.

There was a muttering in their ears by a translator who came along.

“I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock,” announced the long-necked man in guttural Dothraki.

“I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth,” declared the bald black man in the bastardized Valyrian of the Free Cities.

“I am Quaithe of the Shadow. We come seeking dragons.” Quaithe spoke in the Common Tongue of Westeros, and she seemed to address the Targaryens rather than Drogo himself.

Drogo snorted and gestured to me, as I’d coached him to. The khalasar was Drogo’s, but the dragons were mine. That had been our understanding from the beginning. “Seek no more, for you have found them. I am Viserys Targaryen, Father of Dragons. I discovered the secret to hatching dragon eggs over a year ago. Behold Lucifer the Black, Elianna the Emerald, and Winter the White.” I surprised them all by speaking in the Qaathi language, the native tongue of Qarth. A mixture of Channeling and lessons with Sezgin. Valyrian was just as common in the city, but I was trying to make a statement by speaking on their terms.

What followed was a long and winding conversation, full of intrigue and half-truths and hollow promises. Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos fell over themselves offering me honors and gifts, promising all of Qarth if I so desired. Quaithe made not a sound. I eventually convinced the two men to leave, with my word to honor Pyat Pree’s audience with the Undying Ones and to visit Daxos in his palace to discuss business at a later date. Quaithe appeared to nod and leave with them, but it was an illusion. She actually hadn’t moved from her spot.

I waited until the three (well, two and a fake, plus their attendants) were out of sight. Then I nodded to Quaithe. “Reveal yourself, shadow-binder.”

The Dothraki hissed when Quaithe appeared from out of thin air, but the khalasar was used enough to magic between me and the Red Priests that they didn’t react with violence. 

“Your eyes are sharp and clear, he who claimed the title of Azor Ahai,” Quaithe said behind her mask, staying in the Common Tongue.

I hid a flinch. Did she sense my Gamer powers? She’d be the first.

“How dare you? He is Azor Ahai, born and true, wielder of Lightbringer and R’hllor reborn!” Selenia hissed.

“Down, girl,” I said jokingly. “You are clearly very well informed, Quaithe of Asshai. Perhaps you could tell us of what’s been going on in the Seven Kingdoms. It’s been very long since we heard news from across the Narrow Sea.”

Those eyes zeroed in on me. “Why ask questions to which you already know the answers?” she asked in Asshai. Thank the gods I’d picked that up in the Eastern Market.

“A mummer’s farce is a lie, but still the actors must play their parts.”

She nodded. She switched back to Common. “The drunken stag is dead. His son who is not his son rules in his absence, but the lions are trying to keep their claws in him. The bleeding wolf retreated to the North with his pups and prepares to fend off the kraken. The two brothers squabble over their inheritance, while the rest watch and wait.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Be cautious, player. The game might well start playing you.” With that, she finally left.

“What did any of that mean?” Daenerys asked, taking Rhaego back from Jhiqui. The boy seemed to have almost double in size since his birth. He was on track to be even bigger than his father. His hair and eyes were Valyrian blond and purple, but otherwise he was pure Dothraki. The mixture was enchanting, and many of the women cooed over how he’d have the maidens weeping when he grew to manhood. Drogo puffed up with pride every time he heard so much as a kind word aimed at his son and heir. 

“Thankfully, I had Ser Jorah go investigating in the port last night. Armed with what he came back with, I can make some sense of her cryptic words.” I felt like putting on a cap and pointing a stick at a blackboard as I went into exposition mode. “The drunken stag is Robert. The Usurper is perished.”

Dany and Jon gasped, for very different reasons.

I continued. “There are rumors that King Joffrey who succeeded him isn’t a Baratheon at all but a Waters, born of incest between the Kingslayer and his twin sister. But rumors are silenced by Lannister steel. The West is making their bid to rule the Seven Kingdoms. The ‘bleeding wolf’ is most likely Lord Stark. Sounds like he finally did the smart thing and fled King’s Landing with his children and party.” A change I was very curious about. Had my letter had that much of a butterfly effect? Was good old Ned waiting for a Targaryen to come back and reclaim the dynasty he’d helped topple? “The kraken is the Greyjoys, of course. Sounds like they want to take advantage of the chaos to secede and maybe conquer again. The two brothers are Stannis and Renly Baratheon. Stannis believes himself Robert’s heir, and Renly believes himself to be the best suited to rule. The Seven Kingdoms are in disarray. They whisper in the ports that the Sunset Kingdoms are swallowed up by the War of Four Kings.” I shrugged. “That’s my best guess based on what Jorah heard, what Quaithe just told us, and what I’ve seen in the fire.”

I actually had done some scrying. Sezgin and Selenia had watched rapturously as I engaged in one of the sacraments of their order. R’hllor had been kind enough to give me vivid flashbacks of the tv show, which I took as confirmation that canon was continuing as planned, with a few mild alterations. Like me.

“This is horrible,” Jon said.

“This is fantastic,” Dany countered. “Your mother’s family is safe in the North. The rest of the Kingdoms will topple like a house of cards. By the time we get there with our ships, the war will be half-won already.”

“Don’t be too optimistic, sweet sister. The Lannisters and Baratheons may batter each other to pieces, the Starks may remain neutral and the Martells will certainly back us, but that still leaves the Tyrells, the Tullys, and the forces of the Vale, not to mention all the minor houses which may act contrary to their lieges. There will be a war. A short one with Drogo’s khalasar, the Unsullied, a Qartheen navy, and the dragons on our side. But war nonetheless.”

Drogo snorted. “War? I call it sport.”

I shared a bloodthirsty grin I didn’t really feel with him. I wanted to win this game with a minimum of bloodshed. But as little as could be allowed would still be enough to fill a river.

“I’ll take my leave now. I have preparations to make for the next few weeks.”

I had a few finishing touches to make on what I’d been working on to make sure our time in Qarth went off without a hitch. 

I had 100 in Alchemy after all. How hard could it be to make a Philosopher’s Stone?

Xxx

I’ll leave it there. I could go on, but I get the sense that the rest of this chapter would be better off mixed with next chapter. Hope this was worth the wait. Love to you all!


	4. Chapter 4

Surprise, back-to-back updates. What can I say, I had a lot of free time to spend. Wrapping up things in Essos, before setting sail across the Narrow Sea. Let us commence.

Xxx

Getting an audience with the Pureborn required a very… traditional approach. I made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent the traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door, and finally received the traditional blue silk slippers summoning me to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

Also, by an unspoken but just as ancient tradition, I had bribed some of them before my meeting. Well, really all of them. I’d still had gold left over from my enchanted spindle and spinning wheel, and my new secret weapon had made transmuting stuff into gold even simpler. And much as it turned my stomach, despite a lifetime in this world to acclimatize to the industry, I’d plied them with exorbitant numbers of slaves, just enough to be a great gift without becoming too many to feed or find work for. I’d as good as bought the fleet already, with all the resources I had gifted to each individual descendent of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth. If they refused my request, they would be the most gutless, three-faced pack of nobles I’d ever had the misfortune to deal with.

They were two dozen of them, arranged on wooden thrones all but dripping with jewelry and precious metals. Each throne was unique and hundreds of years old, rising in curved tiers from a marble floor to a high-domed ceiling painted with scenes of Qarth's ancient glory. If only the men seated had matched the grandeur. But they were one and all listless, spoiled fossils. The youngest was almost forty, and the oldest was nearing on a century. I had yet to even speak, and I could already tell that they had no intention of listening to a word I said. I was an amusement, a curiosity, something to break the monotony.

Well, time to shake them up. It was said in the streets of Qarth that it was easier to milk the Stone Cow of Faros than to wring something from the Pureborn. But I had a plan. As one of the greatest leaders of my world had once said, “speak softly and carry a big stick.”

“I’ll make this quick and simple,” I said, in Qaathi and dressed in one of the beaded vests and billowing trousers favored by Qartheen men. I felt like an extra in a production of Arabian Nights, but I stayed focused. I was about to make a highly calculated risk. “I request half the Qartheen fleet, and the men to pilot and sail them. Grant me that, I’ll restore you all to your youth. Refuse me, and my dragons will burn this palace to the ground with you inside it.” I made sure to speak in a genial and pleasant tone. The Qartheen were nothing if not polite.

That broke them out of their stupor.

“What did you just say?” demanded one, sounding like he’d genuinely hadn’t heard, but was reacting to the shock of those around him.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Most revered and venerable Pureborn of Qarth, esteemed gentlemen and lords, I want half your ships. Hand them over, and I’ll use my magic to make you young men again. And if you don’t, the dragons outside will set this whole building on fire. Which will it be?”

Quite a few of them burst in tears. I doubted that any of them were real. It was considered civilized among the Qartheen to have the ability to weep at will. One of the younger ones, Wendello Qar Deeth, put on a smile faker than his hair. “Honored guest, perhaps the heat or wine has gotten to you. You speak madness.”

“It’s remarkable how often madness and brilliance coincide.” I shrugged. “It’s really not that complicated. Give me what I ask, and all your aches and pains will be healed, and you’ll be horny as rabbits again. If you don’t, you all end up as ash and dust, buried in the ruins of this Hall. The choice should be obvious.”

“You lie,” hissed one of them. “In both your promise and in your threat.”

I gave a polite laugh. Then I summoned Fire.

In an instant, we were surrounded. From right behind me to the walls, a line of flame higher than my head appeared. The guards at the entrance cried out and charged, but the flames proved too hot, impenetrable to even the most devoted. Nothing hurts worse than a burn, after all. Every avenue of escape was blocked. Even the secret doors and passageways hidden on their side. Red-hot blazes guarded the entrance to each. I had effectively trapped us all.

The Pureborn did not react well. Some of them screamed like children.

“Keep in mind, I said you would burn, not I.” I spoke as if nothing had happened, and this was just a polite business meeting. “Fire does not touch the dragon. My dragons will set the whole building alight, while my own fire will keep you stuck here until the ceiling collapses down on you or the smoke chokes you.” I banked down the flames, so they were still present but not quite so threatening. “But please, there’s no need for you all to suffer a horrific death. Surely not, when the other option is just a few dozen galleys and the cure to old age?”

Egon Emeros the Exquisite, one of the senior members, licked his lips. He eyed the flames warily. “You say you can restore our youth. Even the great warlocks at the height of their power could not accomplish such a feat.”

“They weren’t me.” I smirked cockily. With some sleight of hand and Wind magic, I made it look like a chalice appeared from thin air in my hand. I reached for my belt and carefully doled out some of the precious liquid inside. “A demonstration, to show my good faith. Who here will try my Elixir?”

There was furious muttering and signing among the Pureborn, those that weren’t huddled and soiling themselves from the sight of the fire at least. Finally, one on the bottom tier of thrones, Mathos Mallarawan, wordlessly stood up and walked forward. I noted the giant amethyst on a collar around his neck. It sensed a weak enchantment to guard against poison. It wouldn’t be needed. The Elixir of Life was as far as poison as if was possible to get. It didn’t hurt, it healed.

“Drink and be restored,” I offered in a kind tone, as if he were doing me a favor by drinking. Glaring at me with rheumy eyes, Mathos took the chalice and gulped down the contents.

Seconds later, he was unrecognizable. His robes hung loosely around his waist while being quite tight in the shoulders. His skin was firm and glowing, his hair shining with health, and the subtle pain in his stance had vanished. He held up his own hands as if he didn’t recognize them.

The Pureborn gaped.

I gestured to Mathos with one hand even as I conjured a flame in the other. “So, the choice is yours. Lose the ships and gain something infinitely more precious, or be lost to the fire. Decide now.”

I walked out of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones half an hour later. A sealed scroll was in my hand, for me to deliver to the Master of the Pure Pier. Half of one of the finest-crafted and manned navies in the world. All for the low, low price of some intimidation and giving some old fogies another sixty or seventy years to play god in their little palaces.

I walked over to Lucifer, taking up a great deal of the square at the entrance to the Qartheen palace. With a word in High Valyrian, he flapped his wings and ascended into the air, me seated at the juncture of his neck and shoulders. I flew out of the city, coming to a landing in the Dothraki camp. Leaving Lucifer to get comfortable, I walked over to Dany and Drogo’s tent.

I paused at the entrance, recognizing the sounds inside. I turned to Irri, who was holding a sleeping Rhaego. “How long do I have to wait?”

She smiled at me, looking up from the face of her prince. “They should be finished soon. They started an hour ago.”

I don’t know which impressed/disgusted me more sometimes, Drogo’s stamina or the fact my baby sister could keep up with him.

I waited until there was a guttural cry and high-pitched squeal. I counted out a minute, and then walked in. I was too desensitized after the year with the Dothraki to bat an eye at their nudity. They were spooning on the bed of furs, flushed and panting.

“Hello Dany, Drogo.”

“Vis,” they said in concert. Daenerys giggled and turned to press a kiss to Drogo’s mouth at the cute couple thing. Drogo… reacted.

“Before you get back to trying to make Rhaego a big brother, I thought you might like to see this.” I held up the scroll.

Dany grinned fiercely. She got up, reached for the fertility shroud that had been her wedding gift, and then gave me a tight hug. I hugged her back, sharing her grin. “Is this it?”

“Well, we still have to wait a few days. I need to survive the night; it wouldn’t surprise me if the Pureborn sent a Sorrowful Man after me to retrieve this before I can use it. Then I have that audience with the Undying Ones Pyat Pree arranged. And it will take a while to load all the Dothraki onto these ships and the ones I purchased from Xaro Xhoan Daxos…”

“Brother, please. The moment? Enjoy the moment.”

I laughed. “Yes, this is it. We can set sail. I’ve decided that Rhaego can be the one to liberate Slaver’s Bay. We grab the Unsullied, and then we’re off to Westeros. We’re going home, Dany.”

She hugged me tighter.

I extracted myself from them and left the tent. I heard Drogo moan before I was ten steps away. Guess Dany wanted to… celebrate. By all the gods, what was wrong with that girl?

I walked over to my tent, where Jon was waiting for our daily spar. I spent a couple hours beating him to a pulp in the name of education and exercise, and then I retreated into my tent. Might as well get some sleep.

As I was nodding off, I pulled the blood-red stone out of my pocket. It was shaped like a dodecahedron, and other than its interesting shape seemed utterly uninteresting, just a bauble of semi-precious stone. It’s worth was far from obvious.

The Elixir I’d given to the Pureborn had been just water. What had given it life-giving properties was my channeling of magic through the focus of the stone. The Philosopher’s Stone was not just a tool, it was a focus. It was better than any wand or staff, being created purely from my power and clotted dragon blood I’d gotten from weeks of snagging a few drops from Lucifer. With it, I could transmute any substance. The obvious use was to turn stuff into gold and be rich, but there were many other applications. I could turn the air into steel and form a shield out of nothing. I could turn a man into dust. I could turn a hail of arrows into flowers, if I wanted. And let’s not forget the cure-all of the Elixir of Life.

I grinned. This was going to be so easy it wasn’t even funny.

Xxx

There was indeed a Sorrowful Man out for me. He appeared the next day, while I was lounging by Lucifer, watching the string of seekers come to see living dragons. Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter had become something of a tourist attraction. Always ready to turn a profit, I had set it up so none could enter the camp unless they offered tribute to me, the Father of Dragons. I’d made out like a bandit over the weeks it had taken for the Pureborn to deign to see me. He walked up to me, seeming like any other man, and offered me a box. As I opened it, he said “I am so sorry.”

I smiled at him, even as I felt the scorpion, excuse me, manticore sting me. “I forgive you. You’re just doing what you’re told. So, do this now,” I said, pulling the manticore out of its makeshift cage and crushing it in my fist. “Tell the Pureborn that this insult will be remembered.”

The already pale Qarth turned pale as a ghost. “I-I-I will pass a-along the message.” Then he turned to run. I called out in Dothraki to let him go unmolested.

Then I opened up my bleeding palm, shook off the arachnoid carcass, and reached for my waterskin. I focused magic through the Philosopher’s Stone and drank Elixir. Sure, I could have purged the venom with Water magic and then closed the wounds with one of my potions. But why bother when the Elixir would solve it so much simpler and faster?

Call me lazy if you want. I had easy access to a fucking panacea. Of course, I was going to exploit it.

I was in no hurry to return to Death. It had been horribly boring. I’d live as long as I damn well pleased as an immortal witch-king with a pet dragon, thank you very much. Eat your heart out, Galbatorix.

I checked in around the camp with all the people I cared about, and then set out to the palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Pyat Pree and I had arranged to meet at the man’s home. I flew fast and unseen, settling down in the central courtyard. I noted with a pang in my heart the young boys clad in wisps of silk that danced in the gardens. Homosexuality was one thing, pedophilia quite another. I was a self-proclaimed man-whore, but even I had standards. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t gone for it with the member of the Thirteen.

I set about finding Xaro Xhoan Daxos. I found him in his solar, reading a list. He put it away when he saw me. “Oh King of Dragons, I had not heard you had arrived.”

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t come through the front door.” I smiled enigmatically at him. “Forgive me, but I didn’t feel like traveling through the city. I had a visit from a Sorrowful Man this morning, and who knows how many others are lurking in the streets looking for me before the one I spared lets them know I don’t appreciate their efforts?”

“How horrible!” Xaro Xhoan Daxos (man this guy’s name was a mouthful) weeped at the news. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, if you will follow me, I will escort you to Pyat Pree. He has been waiting for you since dawn.”

“Well let’s not keep him waiting.”

I met with Pyat Pree, who was as unctuous as he’d been at our first meeting. He led me into a palanquin and instructed the slaves to carry us to the House of the Undying. I wasn’t worried about archers. The Sorrowful Men preferred a more up-close approach. I remained silent, despite Pyat Pree’s desire to draw me into conversation. He was as fascinated with me as he was afraid. I had power he’d never known, and command over a dragon. 

I knew he was hoping his superiors would capture me and learn all my secrets, so he could steal Lucifer away from me. And I think he knew I knew. Which raised the question of why I had consented to the audience with the Undying Ones.

Frankly, I just wanted to sate my curiosity. Old and powerful magic was woven into that building, relics of a time when the warlocks of Qarth were a true force to be reckoned with. I wanted to investigate the mazelike-interior, the beating blue heart in the chamber of the Undying, and see what the men drunk to the gills on shade-of-the-evening would tell me.

The House of the Undying was a grey and ancient ruin. It was long and low, without towers or windows and coiled like a stone serpent through a grove of black-barked trees with inky blue leaves. No other buildings stood near, almost as if the city itself feared this thing in its heart. Black tiles covered the palace roof, many of them fallen or broken. The mortar between the stones was dry and crumbling.

“Not much to look at,” I said irreverently.

Pyat Pree bristled. “Heed my words, my king. The House of the Undying Ones is not meant for mortal men. If you value you soul, take care and do just as I tell you.”

I followed him down a winding path through the trees. It was darker under the trees than should be natural. Pyat Pree instructed me that the path would be confusing, I would see things that may drive me mad, but I must always take the first door on the right and go up a staircase. I nodded, and the moment of truth came. He offered me a crystal glass filled with shade-of-the-evening, in the shadow of a door shaped like a human mouth.

I used the Philosopher’s Stone to augment my Water magic and analyzed the contents of the glass. The knowledge flowed into my mind in seconds.

Huh. It was essentially magical LSD. It forged new connections and channels in the brain, allowing greater magical ability, at the cost of hallucinations that may or may not be prophetic and eventually insanity. It was also highly addictive and created a physical dependency after too many doses. The Undying must be the ones who’d taken it longest and managed to survive and maintain some functionality.

Fortunately, I had 100 Magic. I didn’t need any aid at all.

Before Pyat Pree’s eyes, I drank the shade-of-the-evening. He had no idea that I was converting it to Elixir even as it passed my lips. I was filled with a bubbly sense of well-being and love of life, but nothing else. No foul taste that turned into every taste I’d ever known. Satisfied, he opened the door for me. I walked in, and he closed it behind me.

I surveyed the room with clear eyes. There were three doors before me. I was meant to take the one to the right. I cast out my magic and sensed the working implanted in the bricks.

The door on the right would take me on a long and winding trip through the entire building, eventually making it to the chamber of the Undying. Along the way I would be hit with visions of the past, present, and future. The door on the left led down into the catacombs, where the warlocks lived and studied. The door in the center… led directly to the heart of the building.

Well, who was I to turn down a shortcut?

I barged through the center door. I found the room gloomy. A long stone table filled the room, above which floated a heart swollen and blue with corruption. It beat with a deep throbbing sound and each pulse sent out indigo light. A small dwarf no more than knee high with a snoutish face, garbed in purple and blue livery, huddled in the corner. And arranged around the table, garbed in the grey cloaks of the warlocks, were the Undying. Every inch of skin exposed was the eerie blue of Pyat Pree’s lips.

I paid no mind to the yells and demands of the Undying. When one went to touch me, I moved with Wind out of his reach. Most of my attention was focused on the beating heart. It positively radiated magic. Old, complicated… fading magic. It was a spell set into motion millennia ago, losing energy with every beat. It was this magic that suffused the trees, their roots reaching under the stone of the House, and created shade-of-the-evening. In effect, this heart was the source of the warlocks’ power, the filter through which the accessed the wild magic of the world, the key to their visions and workings. And it was dying.

Well, in another life, Daenerys got the warlocks to declare war on her. Perhaps I could have them in my debt instead.

I poured my magic into the heart, revitalizing and cleansing it. I killed off the magical parasites that infected it, cleaned out the negative energy that had seeped in, reconnected and spruced up the connections and bridges holding the inner workings together, and generally shined it up until it gleamed. A beam of light emerged from my palm, connecting to the heart. With each second, it looked healthier and the beat stronger. When I finally stopped, it was hale as a horse, and glowed with a gentler sky blue light as opposed to the indigo of earlier.

I turned to the gobsmacked Undying. “Warlocks were never meant to drink shade-of-the-evening. The original magic users of Qarth had glow-of-the-dawn. The potion you make from the leaves should be much less toxic from now on.”

“Who… who are you?”

“Viserys Targaryen. Remember my name. The world certainly will.”

With that, I left the chamber and walked out the door I entered through.

Pyat Pree was muttering prayers in Qaathi. He jumped when he saw me. “What have you done, Targaryen?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me. I just saved your dying order. That heart was about ready to keel over. Your magic should be much stronger, not to mention cleaner, now. Enjoy. No need to thank me.”

Then, before his disbelieving eyes, I used the Wind to fly up into the sky, making back for the Dothraki camp.

The next day, I walked through the streets to the harbor. No Sorrowful Men made a move against me. I presented the scroll to the Master of the Pure Pier. He read it with both brows raised high, but the signatures of each Pureborn could not be forged, nor their seals copied. He went about making the arrangements, rousing the captains and having them gather their crews.

With great procession over the next week, the Dothraki of Drogo’s khalasar rode through Qarth to the port, where they and their horses boarded the grand galleys of the Civic Guard the Pureborn had turned over to my use. The Dothraki were hesitant of getting near the poison water, but Drogo (seemingly) fearlessly rode onto the flagship. After that, apart from a few incidents, the Dothraki boarded the ships with little trouble.

On the last day, when the last ship was being loaded, three ships bearing the colors of Pentoshi traders sailed into port. I recognized the flags that flew from their main masts.

“About damn time. I was worried we’d miss them,” I said to myself.

I and a party of relevant individuals met the ship’s captain, as well as the man at his side.

“Belwas,” I nodded at the eunuch captain. He grinned and nodded. We recognized each other from when I stayed with Illyrio and did errands for him. He handed me a parcel of letters, which I handed off to Sezgin, who was kind of my butler when he wasn’t my lover or religious consultant.

I turned to the other man.

“Ser Barristan Selmy,” I greeted. “It’s been a long time.”

The aged knight had such a look of guilt on his face. He knelt down before me, moving as if the full plate he wore wasn’t there. He hadn’t lost any of his strength with age. “I beg your forgiveness, my king. I failed to protect your father from one of our own. Afterwards, thinking only of myself, I swore allegiance to the Pretender that took his place.”

I chuckled and brought him to his feet by grasping his shoulders. “None of that, now. What matters is that you’re here, now, and willing to swear fealty to your true king.” I paused. “Wait, you are swearing your sword to me, right? This would be terribly awkward if you weren’t.”

Barristan found himself chuckling. “There’s much of your brother in you, my King.”

I was touched. I had very fond memories of Rhaegar. I would always think of him as the best man I’d ever known. “Thank you. Now, we can find you a white cloak later. For now, turn around and get back on that boat. We’re sailing for Astapor.”

“Astapor?”

“Forty thousand Dothraki screamers are a formidable force, but an army built on one kind of fighter is doomed to fail. We’re off to get the Unsullied.”

“The slave soldiers?” he asked in disgust. “Erm, my king,” he tacked on.

“Please, just call me Viserys. Vis, if you’re comfortable with it. You’re Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, you’re meant to be as close to me as my queen one day will be.” I smiled. “And yes. I know you consider it a sin and trust me that in my heart I do as well. But I need an army. The Dothraki are a rampaging horde. They have their tactics and strategies, but it’s chaos at its heart. They don’t follow orders very well. The Unsullied are the most obedient soldiers to be found in the world.”

“That might be… dangerous.” Barristan was clearly uneasy. “If you arrive at the head of a slave army, many good men would oppose you for no good reason than that. Why not just call the banners and trust in the Houses to be loyal?”

“The dragon fears nothing. Or that’s what I say if I was as crazy as dear old dad.” I clapped the poor man on the shoulder. He had no idea what he’d gotten into by becoming my bodyguard. “Just trust me. There is an enemy much more frightening than Joffrey waiting for us back home.”

He clearly didn’t understand, but he bowed to the will of his king. “Very well. How many can we afford?”

I chuckled. “Oh, you misunderstand. We’re not buying them. We’re taking them. Dragons make very effective leverage.”

On cue, Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter came back from hunting. I warged with Lucifer and had him land on the one of the three ships, his siblings landing on the others. The men on deck screamed and some fell overboard.

“Seven hells. The rumors were true,” Barristan gasped.

“Indeed, they were. I plan on repeating what my ancestor Aegon did so long ago. Three dragons to unite seven kingdoms.”

We had the ship Lucifer landed on renamed Balerion, with the other two becoming Vhagar and Meraxes, in memory of the original three dragons. Then, with the three leading the ships-of-the-line of the Qartheen navy and the decorated but deadly galleons of the Thirteen, the first khalasar in history to cross the ocean set out.

One last stop, and then on to Sunspear. Reclaiming the Iron Throne would hopefully be a formality at best. It was what came after that I truly feared.

I had a lot of Valyrian Steel weapons to make. I had to arm the whole khalasar, the Unsullied, and the knights of Westeros after all.

Xxx

In a truly unexpected turn of events, Pyat Pree had sworn his magic to me. He came with the first barrel of glow-of-the-dawn, which was now more akin to cyan absinthe than indigo mushroom juice. The magical stimulant was much healthier than it used to be, let’s leave it at that. I fixed him up with a touch of Elixir and then started mass-producing glow-of-the-dawn out of seawater to feed to him, Sezgin, and any Dothraki interested in learning magic. Selenia was left out of it, on account of the little one growing inside her. I’d done a scan and was proud to announce that I’d have a daughter by the time I made it to King’s Landing if all went according to schedule.

Together with my new cadre of apprentices, I set about fashioning Valyrian Steel arakhs, dragonglass arrowheads, and dragonbone bows. I toyed with the idea of a Mithril whip but figured it wouldn’t be that effective against the Army of the Dead. Would be funny as hell to see a White Walker choking on a lash, though. I made no secret of my activities, transmuting the raw materials in broad daylight to load into the depths of Balerion where my Order of Mages (a grandiose name, yes, but I needed to call them something) cranked out rough but serviceable weaponry that was both superior to the current ones and would work against wights.

Dany spent the first few weeks miserable, getting sick almost constantly. When I went to check her, it proved to not be seasickness but morning sickness.

“Well that’s just great,” I sighed. “How in the seven hells are you going to ride into battle on Elianna when you’re fat with child?”

Daenerys slapped me. “I was never fat.”

“Sorry, poor word choice.”

“I can always warg with her.”

“Well, good enough. Congratulations, by the way. Another boy, unless I miss my guess. Drogo will be so proud, I’m sure.”

And indeed he was. I was glad I slept on another ship that night. Everyone on Drogo’s ship either complained or laughed about the night-long lovemaking the next day.

We cut a straight line across Slaver’s Bay, making it to Astapor in two months. The city was something to see, with its pyramids and fighting pits and tall walls, all made of a crumbling red brick. I was sure that a stiff wind would kick up enough dust to mimic a sand storm. At least the port had the wind of the sea to provide refreshment from the endless red particulates.

“So, this is Astapor, older than even Valyria,” Jon said at my side.

“One of the more ancient parts of the world.” I tried and failed to keep the disgust out of my tone. “You think what the Dothraki do is bad? Slavery here has a whole new meaning. You can buy an infant out of its mother’s arms for one silver mark. The Unsullied have the most brutal, sadistic training out of any military in the world. The start training at five, and only a third survive to get their spiked cap. And the things they have to do to earn it… the sad thing is that it works. The Unsullied are unmatched in certain aspects.”

“What aspects are that?” Jon turned to me. “I don’t know you well, uncle, but I know that you hate slavery, even if you can force yourself to use it. Why buy an army of slaves if it turns your stomach? You could win the Iron Throne with nothing but Drogo’s riders and the forces of the Martells.”

I hesitated, but I’d told Dany so I might as well tell him. “It’s not the Iron Throne I need the Unsullied for. It’s for what’s beyond the Wall. I need men who won’t panic and flee at the sight of the walking dead.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “The Others? They’re just old stories.”

“So were dragons.” I nodded at Winter flying above us. “They’re there. Trust me. And they’ve been building an army for centuries. I’ve made the weapons, but I need to trust the men to wield them. There are some among the Dothraki and eventually the Westerosi who simply won’t be able to handle fighting the White Walkers and their wights. It will drive them mad. That’s why I need the Unsullied. They feel no pain, and they’d slit their own throats if commanded to. They will be the infantry to break the Army of the Dead.”

Jon swallowed. “I thought magic was bad. Now the monsters turn out to be real too.”

“Yeah. It sucks, doesn’t it?”

We commiserated for a bit, and then I had us spar. We both needed the distraction.

To the Dothraki’s consternation, they weren’t able to come off and ride their horses across the red earth. It simply would have been too grand an ordeal to load them all off only to turn around and get them back on again. They’d have to wait until we got to Westeros. Many men dealt with their frustration by finding their wives. Forced proximity had only made the Dothraki even more likely to fuck the day away. A great many Dothraki babes would be born on Westeros rather than Essos.

We docked, and I quickly made the arrangements to meet with the Good Masters. All of them. Such a request would normally take a great deal of time, but when the Father of Dragons shows up, people make way. I could only be grateful that the magic of a proper bonding had sped up their growth. They’d literally be less than half as intimidating by now if it weren’t for the bond.

The next day, I met with Kraznys mo Nakloz and his associates in the Plaza of Pride. The Unsullied in their entirety were arranged in the Plaza, standing in 86 ranks of a hundred. I was carried in by Lucifer. The men, most of them morbidly obese, fanned themselves and marveled at his sheer bulk. Lucifer was almost the size of a small ship himself, and had discovered a pleasure in swimming beneath the depths to hunt fish in their natural environment. His wings worked just as well with water as wind. Who knew?

Kraznys turned to his translator as I approached. His High Valyrian was twisted by the characteristic growl of Ghis, with some slaver slang thrown in. “Tell the stupid western boy that all the Unsulllied, my beautiful creatures, are arrayed before his eyes.”

Missandei, recognizable even as a ten-year-old by her golden Naath eyes, said in the Common Tongue “Kraznys mo Nakloz greets you, Viserys Targaryen, Father of Dragons. He says that every Unsullied is here for your inspection as you requested.”

I smiled down at her. Then I turned to look at Kraznys. “I hate slavers,” I said in flawless Valyrian. Then I used Wind magic to drag the harpy’s fingers, the symbolic cat-o’-nine-tails that signified command over the Unsullied, out of his hands and into mine. “Dragonfire,” I instructed Lucifer.

The Good Masters were, to a one, rendered ash.

I rose the whip to the unflinching Unsullied. They had not reacted. Horrific as their training was, you couldn’t deny their discipline. “To the boats. Kill any man who wears a tokar or bears a whip along the way. Strike the chains from every slave.”

The Harpy of Ghis looked down from her fountain in disdain as the Unsullied did my command. Astapor was sacked from within, and for a brief time, every slave was free.

At the port, when all the Unsullied were on the ships, I turned and threw the harpy’s fingers overboard. “You’re free now. If any of you so desire, you may leave. But if you come with me, I will give you homes and names and freedom in a land where slavery does not exist.”

The leader of them all, with a three-spiked cap, stepped forward. “This one is Grey Worm. We will follow you.”

And just like that, I got almost nine thousand infantry. The five thousand still in training could become a militia to guard the city from the backlash the other cities of Slaver’s Bay would have.

But I couldn’t concern myself with Essos anymore. That was Rhaego’s to deal with in a couple decades. The immediate threat and concern from me lay across the Narrow Sea.

“To Westeros!” I called. And we sailed out of the port of the liberated city, Lucifer roaring as he and his siblings flew above.

Xxx

This may feel rushed, but it just came pouring out. Hopefully you don’t mind that it’s a little rough around the edges. Next stop, Westeros!


	5. Chapter 5

**Here we are, at last. The Targaryen dynasty of the Seven Kingdoms shall be reborn, with Fire and Blood. Let us begin.**

Xxx

 

The voyage to Sunspear was a long one. We had to sail down and out of Slaver’s Bay, around the Valyrian Peninsula, and then across the Summer Sea to the Narrow Sea and the southern edges of Westeros, where the seat of House Martell power sat.

 

I was very, _very_ tempted to venture inland and investigate the ruins of Valyria. But saner heads prevailed. Whether it was just sulfur dioxide from a volcano that made the land toxic or actual demons remained to be seen. I wasn’t going to risk it… at least not until the ice demons to the North had been dealt with. I might take a year off and explore, leaving things to my Hand to deal with after that whole debacle was dealt with.

 

We stopped in Volantis and Lys to resupply and give the men a chance to stretch their legs. We caused the expected stir, three living dragons and enough ships to fill the horizon. I had planned on it, actually. I could have made everyone food out of the horseshit the mounts filled the bilges with through the Philosopher’s Stone (though whether anyone would eat it was another question entirely). The point of these little stops in our journey West was so that rumors of the fleet, the dragons, and the magical Targaryen king could spread and be picked up by certain little birds.

 

Whether Varys would reveal my coming or not was up to him. I wouldn’t be surprised either way. Keep me secret and I’ll be a surprise, constantly warn of me and I’ll be a looming threat on their minds. With luck, either way I’d have Joffrey and the rest of the Lannisters pissing in their pants.

 

The horseshit wound up being converted into more iron to craft Valyrian Steel, by the way.

 

It took four months to reach Westeros, during which time quite a lot happened.

 

Little Artemys was born a couple weeks before we made landfall. She was early and a tad small, but she was perfectly healthy. She had the hair and eyes of her mother, but she had my nose and original pale complexion. Words cannot describe the feeling I had holding my baby girl in my arms. So, this was parenthood. Selenia was fit as a fiddle after the birth, and she and Sezgin were utterly besotted with the little princess. By the law of Westeros, she was my bastard. But I couldn’t give a flying fuck about legitimacy. She was my blood, the blood of the dragon, and I would love her just as much as any ‘true-born’ children I had one day. I was going to be King, I could do whatever the hell I wanted, right?

 

“Fatherhood suits you, my king,” said a wheat blond man in white Valyrian Steel plate and Mithril. Barristan had been weary of drinking the Elixir, as he distrusted all tricks and he considered magic the height of trickery. But a command from his king had been enough to get him to knock back the cup, and suddenly one of the most feared and respected knights in history was back in his physical prime. We often had long spars to pass the time. He was the first man to truly give me a challenge since I’d maxed out. I had no doubt that if the Selmy was in the game, he’d be Level 30 with 100 Bladed Weaponry just like me, perhaps with a couple perks to augment his phenomenal swordsmanship.

 

“She’s the center of my whole world,” I said with a dopey grin. “I mean, I still love Dany and Jon and the Throne is still the goal, but at the heart of it all, it comes back to her. Everything I do now, I’ll do for her, to secure her future.” I shook my head. “Well, enough of being the doting daddy. Let’s try that disarming combination again.”

 

Barristan drew Honor, the Valyrian Steel blade I’d gifted him. “The day you knock a sword from my hand is the day you no longer need me, my king.”

 

“I’ll always need you.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Jon’s lessons continued as well. He didn’t know it, frustrated by constant failure as he was, but he was improving by leaps and bounds. I didn’t doubt that he was as competent with a sword as it was possible to be for his age and weight. We went for long fights astride Lucifer and Winter, where Jon learned how to shoot from dragonback and warg midflight to execute difficult maneuvers. Ghost continued to grow, especially when I got around to doing a proper binding between him and Jon. The direwolf was the size of Drogo’s stallion by the time we were in Westerosi waters.

 

The Unsullied, to my regret, remained in their original mangled bodies. I longed to just give them Elixir and be done with it, but I couldn’t afford to. They might get physically stronger, but at what cost? I needed them in their perfectly broken condition until the Night King’s head was mounted on my wall. Giving them their cocks and sense of touch back would just undue all the years of training that had made them so effective. I told myself it would give them something to fight for, but it still prickled my conscience now and then.

 

Daenerys even trained. She shot birds out of the air and fish out of the water with her crossbow when she took her constitutional across the deck of her ship. And she warged with Elianna to coordinate with Jon and I when we practiced aerial combat. Her pregnancy continued without a hiccup. She confessed to me and Drogo that she wanted to name the baby Visero, in honor of me. I got choked up, I’ll admit. Drogo wrinkled his nose at the odd name but went along with it. Whatever Dany wanted, Dany got. Especially when Rhaego had turned out so perfect.

 

Speaking of my nephew, he was developing at a remarkable rate. Less than a year old and he was already walking unassisted and was as high as his father’s knee. He was truly set to be a giant when he reached full growth. He could already count and was babbling in coherent syllables. Maybe the prenatal potion I gave Dany had unforeseen side effects, maybe Rhaego was destined to be a prodigy, but either way Drogo couldn’t be prouder. He could spend hours playing with the infant, rolling over and making silly faces without a trace of embarrassment or shame. Every night, he tucked little Rhaego into his furs, the dragon egg that held his future companion nestled next to him.

 

There was a roar of celebration when the day came we spotted the twin towers of Sunspear on the horizon. The Dothraki were well and truly sick of sea travel. Other than the return trip to Essos, I doubted they’d ever agree to set foot on any kind of boat in the future. Call it genetics or culture, but the only mode of transport that agreed with them was horseback.

 

I flew ahead to get things rolling and warn them to prepare. And maybe because I was a bit eager to get back on dry land myself.

 

Lucifer wasn’t attacked when we flew over the Old Palace, which I took as a good sign. It took some maneuvering, but we managed to land in a courtyard just barely big enough to contain the black beast as he made his descent. I waited until he tilted down his neck, so I could slide off, and then waited for someone important to arrive.

 

I was approached by a knight with the traditional Dornish look of tanned skin and curly black hair. “My king. Sunspear welcomes you.”

 

“I accept the welcome with thanks,” I replied. “Ser Manfrey Martell, I presume.”

 

He blinked. “Yes, my king. I am the castellan here. My cousin, Prince Doran, is currently at the Water Gardens, three leagues up the coastal road.”

 

“Well, please send a raven. I have many things I need to discuss with him.” I nodded towards the port. “And you might want to prepare yourselves. I’ve got 60 ships full of cranky Dothraki and their cranky horses that want to disembark almost as soon as they’ve docked. Not to mention two more dragons.”

 

“Right away, my king. Would you perhaps wish to enjoy some refreshment in the feast hall?”

 

I shook my head. “No thanks. I’ll help out with things down at the dock. Plus, I want to escort my family and entourage up to the palace myself. I just wanted to give you all advance warning.”

 

Manfrey blinked. “You… wish to help down at the docks? Rest assured, my king, the harbormaster will have it well in hand. There’s no need for you to toil and trouble yourself.”

 

I chuckled. “People shouldn’t serve their king, a king should serve his people. Besides, I wasn’t planning to get my hands dirty. Magic is so convenient that way.”

 

“… Very well,” the poor Martell acquiesced.

 

It was a headache and a half to get Drogo’s khalasar and the Unsullied off the boats, through the city, out the Threefold Gate and to camp in the outskirts of the Shadow City. The townsfolk didn’t help, deciding to throw an impromptu parade for the return of the ‘rightful king’ and the appearance of three living, breathing dragons. I was picking confetti out of my hair for hours.

 

I was hosted in the Old Palace with Jon and the other Westerosi and my Order of Mages. Daenerys and Drogo camped with the khalasar, as was their right and duty. It was the furthest apart Dany and I had been in months. I resisted the urge to fly out and visit her. She was her own woman now, a mother and wife, adopted into another culture in a way I never would be. I had to let her go at some point. Might as well be now.

 

That night, I paid a visit to a certain young girl in the Tower of the Sun.

 

Myrcella Baratheon (Waters) had all of her mother’s beauty with none of her cruelty or fire. She took one look at me and blushed crimson even as she gave an ‘eep’. She circled around the bed so there was something between us. “You… you’re the one. The man with the dragons.”

 

“Yes, I am.” Gods, she was young. Not just young, naïve. No, not even that. She was innocent. Despite the circumstances of her birth and the kind of people she’d grown up around, she was truly unaware of how dark and miserable the world could be.

 

“They say you’re the king. I heard the servants talking. But how can you be king? My brother Joffrey is the king. He’s not a very good king, but he’s still the king!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“It’s alright.” I walked over and sat in a chair. I’d purposely come unarmed, to seem as nonthreatening as possible. “Let’s start over. Hello, my name is Viserys Targaryen.”

 

Her eyes widened. “The Targaryens are dead. My daddy killed them all before I was born.”

 

“He tried, but he missed a few of us.” I paused. “And what is your name?”

 

“Oh!” Remembering her manners, she sunk into a curtsy. “I’m Myrcella Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

“Hello, Myrcella. Nice to meet you.” I gestured at another chair. “Would you please sit? I’d like to talk with you for a little bit.”

 

“Okay,” she said, coming over and sitting in the chair facing me.

 

I waited until she’d settled her skirts. “I don’t know how well you know your history. I’ll just cover the basics. Three hundred years ago, a man named Aegon united the Seven Kingdoms and forged the Iron Throne. For over two hundred years, his descendants, the Targaryens, ruled. Then, about 16 years ago, things went bad. My father, Aerys, was a very bad king. He ordered your daddy killed. Your daddy didn’t like that and went to war against my father. In the end, your daddy won the war and declared himself king. Most of the other noble houses supported his claim. But it was kind of stealing.”

 

Myrcella frowned. “Stealing is bad. But Daddy did a lot of bad things.”

 

I frowned at that. “Yes, well, I’m sure he did his best. Anyway, I’m a Targaryen. By the old laws, the throne should be mine, not your brother’s. That’s why people call me king.”

 

Myrcella nodded. “Um, what does that mean? Are you and Joffrey going to fight over who gets to be king?”

 

I hid a wince. She had no idea, no idea at all. “I’m afraid so.”

 

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked, sounding very small.

 

“I won’t hurt you,” I promised. “For the most part, you’ll stay here, and things will be the same as before. You might even still marry Trystane if you want. If you don’t, then when all this is over you can live with your family in the Westerlands.”

 

She frowned. “My home is King’s Landing.”

 

“You can come visit, if you like. But if I win this fight, you won’t be a princess anymore. You’ll be a Lannister lady instead.”

 

“Wait. Wouldn’t I be a Baratheon lady?”

 

Stupid Vis. “Of course. That’s what I meant. Sorry I said the wrong word.” I couldn’t break the truth to her. It would be like showing snuff porn to a Muppet. It was just wrong. Something this delicate had to be protected. “I’ll leave you now. I just wanted you to know who I was and why I was here.”

 

I turned to leave, but she stopped me with a called-out word. When I turned, she had a sad smile on her lips and tears in her eyes. “I hope you win, Viserys. You seem like a much nicer king than Joffrey.”

 

“Thank you, Myrcella.”

 

Well, that was oddly draining.

 

Two days later, the Prince of Dorne arrived back at Sunspear.

 

“Presenting Prince Doran Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne, Lord of Sunspear,” announced a herald as he entered the central courtyard.

 

I waited until he came up to me in his wheeled chair. I also noted the lovely lady walking beside him, watching him with the worried eyes of a child.

 

“My king. You’re return has been long awaited,” Doran said when he reached me.

 

“Prince Doran. Please, I insist you call me Viserys. We’re good-brothers after all.”

 

His face seemed to collapse. “Once, perhaps. In a simpler time.”

 

“It still remains true in my eyes.”

 

“Then feel no need to call me ‘prince’.

 

I eyed him, shapeless from rich food and little exercise, his face hiding pain even as he sat. I couldn’t resist. “First things first, let’s get you a drink of water. This sun is stifling.” I handed over my personal flask. My other hand went into my pocket, where I gripped the Philosopher’s Stone.

 

“There’s really no need for you to trouble yourself. The servants can get me something,”

 

“I insist,” I pressed.

 

His eyes narrowed, but he apparently trusted me enough not to poison him. He took the flask and gave a pull. Then his eyes widened, and he dropped it. The flask emptied in his lap, but he didn’t seem to care. With disbelief in every motion, Doran stood up out of his chair. He was restored to the leanness of a man in peak fitness, and under his robes his joints had lost their red discoloration.

 

“Father!” the woman blurted out.

 

I turned to her. “Ah, you must be Arianne. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

Doran looked at me with awe. “What miracle is this?”

 

I offered a friendly grin. “I learned a great deal in Essos. I’m quite the sorcerer, if I do say so myself. My Elixir repairs all damage to the body. Consider it a gift to commemorate our meeting. Now, might we retreat to your solar? We have war to discuss.”

 

Dany, who’d come to be present, rolled her eyes. “Not even easing them into your madness. Poor form, Vis.”

 

“Sweet sister, my ears must deceive me. I could have sworn you spoke ill of your beloved big brother.”

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t name my second son after you.”

 

“Come now, don’t do that. That would cut me to the quick, it would.”

 

I bantered a bit more, and then we all made our way to the solar. Doran seemed to delight in each step he took. Arianne looked between her father and me, with a growing spark in her eyes.

 

Seems she was planning to show me some Dornish hospitality. Well, alas, it wasn’t to be. Not if my plans were going to work.

 

In the end, it was me, Jon, Dany, Drogo, Sezgin, Barristan, Doran, Arianne, and the household of Sunspear arranged in the spacious office set aside for the Prince of Dorne. I noticed that Doran had a map of Westeros hanging from the wall.

 

“Right. Let’s get the obvious stuff out of the way,” I said once introductions were made and everyone was settled. “Can I depend on you to support my claim to the Iron Throne?”

 

Doran’s eyes flashed as he gave a savage grin. “To the last man. On one condition: Tywin Lannister lose everything he holds dear before we are done.”

 

“I think I can manage that,” I grinned. “Now, tell me what the situation is in the Kingdoms. My latest news is months old.”

 

“It’s grim, that’s for sure.” Doran launched into his explanation. “Renly is dead. They say he was assassinated by one of his Kingsguard, a woman named Brienne of Tarth. With his demise, the Stormlands have renewed their fealty to so-called King Joffrey. Stannis’s forces are in shambles. He committed most of his forces to an assault on King’s Landing, in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Tyrion Lannister had the mad idea to fill the bay with wildfire. It was a rout. As far as we know, Stannis is licking his wounds on Dragonstone. The North won a ceasefire by trading the hostage Jaime Lannister. The agreement is simple: the North sends no forces south of the Neck, and the Lannisters send no forces north of it. The North has essentially seceded from the Seven Kingdoms, at least for now. There are rumors, though, that Eddard Stark might be a Targaryen loyalist. We’ll have to wait and see. And finally, Balon Greyjoy has decided to rebel once again. He’s been harassing the Westerlands and word is he’s planning a major invasion of the North.”

 

I nodded along. “What of Riverrun?”

 

Doran frowned. “A shadow of its former self. King Joffrey, though it was really Tywin acting through him, was not pleased in the role they played in helping the North ‘rebel’. Most of their lands have been stripped. They say the news is what finally killed old Hoster Tully. Edmure rules now, cowed and broken by the Lannisters.”

 

“And where is Oberyn?”

 

Doran sighed. “He and his paramour Ellaria Sand are currently in King’s Landing, to claim the small council seat promised to House Nymeros Martell, and to represent us at King Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell.”

 

“Well, I guess we can cross off Highgarden among our potential allies.”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Mace Tyrell is a blithering idiot, it’s his mother Olenna who really rules. I imagine they will position themselves however she deems the most likely to end with her granddaughter Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. At the moment, that means Joffrey.”

 

“So, Tyrell may double-cross the Lannisters if we seem like the winning horse.” I nodded, my Tactics stat working to calculate the best plan. “Here’s my plan. The dragon has three heads, so we go with a three-pronged approach. Daenerys will take Elianna and lead Drogo’s khalasar and the bulk of the House Martell forces through the Red Mountains and up the Kingsroad. Jon, with the ships and Winter, goes up the west coast to dismantle the Lannister and Greyjoy navies. I, with Lucifer and the Unsullied, will retake Dragonstone. Dany and I will converge on King’s Landing, while Jon takes his forces to sack Pyke. We rout the capital, take back my Throne, have our little coronation, and then we all make our way North.”

 

“North? Why would we want to go there?”

 

I looked Doran in the eye. “Less than an hour ago, I gave you back your legs. Will you believe what I’m about to tell you?”

 

Doran regarded his knees before looking back at me. “I’ll do my best.”

 

“The Wall wasn’t build to keep out wildlings. The Others do exist. And they’re coming. This coming winter may well be our last if we don’t stop them.”

 

“… I wouldn’t believe you, but I can see them in your eyes. You talk of retaking the Iron Throne like it’s a game of Cyvasse. But you speak of the North with true concern.” Doran leaned back. “I’ll support you in heading North, if we succeed. It’s the rest of the Houses you’ll have a hard time convincing. But for the moment, we really should focus on King’s Landing.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

We spent hours hashing out the details, discussing supply trains and which minor house would serve where. The others chimed in when prompted, but most of the talking was done by Doran and me. I’d very much like to play him at Chess, he was a true evil mastermind.

 

We were wrapping up the war details when Arianne gave a not-so-subtle cough.

 

“Oh, yes. Another matter I must discuss with you.” Doran put on a winning smile. “I would be highly honored if you would consider a marriage with my daughter, Arianne.”

 

I returned his grin. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have other plans on whom to betroth myself to. Would she settle for my nephew, Jon?”

 

“What?” Jon asked, looking like I’d hit him in the face with a wet fish.

 

“Jon Targaryen, First of his Name, born of my brother Rhaegar and his second wife Lyanna Stark. Good lad, humble, terrific swordsman, good with numbers. Arianne would be an excellent match for him, she could melt that Northern stiffness out of him. And their children would have the blood of the First Men, the Andals, the Rhoynar, AND Old Valyria. A beautiful combination, no?” I turned to the two in question. “How about it? Feel like spending the rest of your lives beholden to each other?”

 

Arianne shrugged. “I was hoping for Queen, but Princess of Dragonstone is a close second. So long as we visit Dorne often.”

 

Jon flushed, put on the spot. “I would be honored, of course.” He sent a glare of death at me, but he had nothing on Dany. Speaking of, she was suppressing what I was sure was a bellyful of laughter.

 

The two were voluntold to the alliance, and our business for the day was completed.

 

Jon wouldn’t talk to me for a week. Then Arianne visited his chambers one night. The next day, he was all smiles, and Arianne was walking funny. Was it a Targaryen thing, to be wild in bed? I thought it was just me, but Dany and Jon both showed remarkable prowess even without the game to augment them.

 

Anyway, the alliance with House Martell was sealed with Jon and Arianne’s engagement. It was decided that they would have their wedding in King’s Landing after all was said and done. A little like putting the cart before the horse, but Doran and I agreed that there was no need to ‘waste’ resources with the formality of an actual wedding when victory was all but assured. We had THREE dragons, after all. Not to mention the largest khalasar in history, the best trained spearmen in the world, and legit magicians. I’d done more than just teach my Order of Mages how to forge Valyrian Steel, after all. None of them, even Pyat Pree who drank glow-of-the-dawn like water, could match up to me, of course. But compared to the nonexistent magical corps of the other side, it was overwhelming.

 

In regard to my Order, it was decided that Pyat Pree would go with Jon, Sezgin would go with Daenerys and Drogo, and Selenia (plus little Artemys) would stay with me. The three were the most accomplished at of all my students, given their years of training before I even recruited them. They’d serve as leaders of the small contingent of mages assigned to each prong while I wasn’t around.

 

I sent out ravens to every major town, in the manner of a public proclamation. I used all the appropriate legalese and flowery language, but it boiled down to a very simple message to the people of the Seven Kingdoms, noble and beggar alike: join us or stay out of our way. I couldn’t resist throwing in a threat to “the Usurper’s whelp”. That should have the psychopath frothing at the mouth.

 

On the eve of our separation, I supped privately with Daenerys and Jon.

 

“Well, this is it. When next we’re all together, the war will be won and Westeros will be ours.” I raised a glass “Fire and Blood.”

 

“Fire and Blood,” they said, echoing my toast. Dany drank honeyed water instead of wine, of course.

 

“And Jon and I will be uncles twice over,” I added, nodding at her bump. Looks like Visero would be of a comparable size to his brother.

 

“Tease me and I’ll do my utmost best to make it going on thrice when we meet again.”

 

“Three kids in two years? I never took you for a masochist, Dany.”

 

“You’re the one who arranged my marriage to the finest stallion in all of Essos.”

 

“I thought we agreed that any incestuous wedding was off the table.”

 

Jon shook his head. “The Seven Kingdoms are doomed.”

 

The next day, the Second Conquest officially began. Drogo’s khalasar began the long trek west and then northeast, while Jon and I set off on our different compliments of ships. Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter let out long roars before each was out of earshot, their own farewell.

 

The days of the ‘Baratheon’ dynasty were numbered.

 

Xxx

 

It took a month to make it the ancestral seat of Targaryen power. In that time, I stayed in contact with Daenerys and Jon through enchanted mirrors. They were actually devilishly complicated to create, even with the Philosopher’s Stone. Guess space-time doesn’t like being tampered with past a certain degree. Anyway, I had invented the equivalent of the telephone in Planetos. It just might revolutionize communication one day, if I ever had the time to mass-produce them. But that day was far away at this point.

 

Anyway, both were doing okay. Most people took one look at the massive khalasar with a dragon flying above it and surrendered. There was one memorable incident where Mace Tyrell, in a truly foolish move, sent his forces out of Highgarden to meet the khalasar in combat. The true irony was that the route the khalasar was taking would have bypassed the capital of the Reach entirely. The man brought about his own defeat. Anyway, the result was… decisive, let’s leave it at that. I would have paid money to hear what came out of Olenna Redwyne’s mouth when she learned what her son had done. Jon faced similar lack of resistance. In keeping with Doran’s wishes, Jon and the fleet took a slight detour to sack Lannisport. It was probably just as well, wouldn’t want an ambush from behind when they were focusing on wiping the Iron Islands off the map.

 

The day eventually dawned when Dragonstone was visible on the horizon.

 

I held Artemys in his arms as I looked on the last home in Westeros I’d ever known. “This is where Targaryens ruled, baby girl. It’s where your little brother will one day rule. Promise not to tease him too much for being prince of a little hunk of volcanic rock. It’s a powerful place, filled with our history.”

 

“Are you filling her heads with wisdom or nonsense, darling?” Selenia asked, hugging me from behind. She’d relaxed more than Sezgin in holding me up in fanatical worship. She acted more like my girlfriend (excuse me, paramour) than what Melisandre was to Stannis.

 

Speaking of…

 

“Wisdom, of course.” I turned to give her a kiss. Then I turned back to the island, shifting Artemys out of my hands to hers. “Tell me, sweetheart, what you know of Melisandre of Asshai.”

 

Selenia looked up from cooing at our daughter. “Not much. She was sold as a slave to a red temple in Asshai over a hundred years ago. She became infamous for her skills at peering into the fire and shadow-binding.  She once gained an audience with the High Priest in the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis, the largest in the world. I’m not sure where she is today.”

 

“If I told you she’s on that island, convinced that Stannis Baratheon is Azor Ahai…” I asked leadingly.

 

Selenia gave a predatory grin. “Then I would say she will be terribly embarrassed when you prove her wrong. If she’s a true servant of R’hllor, she’ll see the truth of it and pledge her loyalty to you. If she’s grown arrogant and lost, she might reject you out of spite and act against you. But whatever tricks of Fire and Shadow she may know, you have her beaten already.”

 

“Good to know. Now get this little princess down for her nap. I don’t want her earliest memories to be the sound of battle.”

 

Stannis, being a stubborn ass, sent out what few ships he had left in a defiant defense. I could have had Lucifer burn them all, but I needed the ships to stay intact so Stannis could head North and prevent the wildlings from breaking through. We captured them instead, my mages and I deflecting arrows and javelins with Wind and the Unsullied pouring onto the hooked boats with deadly grace.

 

At the end of the conflict, I walked off _Balerion_ to where Lucifer was already sat on the docks. Arranged before him, quivering in their boots, were the knights of Stannis’ house guard and the man himself. Any fear he had being within burning distance of a dragon was hidden well, or absent entirely. His courage may have had something to do with the beautiful woman clad in a red dress beside him.

 

“Stannis Baratheon,” I greeted with courtesy. “I am Viserys Targaryen. I believe you’ve been living in my family’s castle uninvited for a number of years.”

 

“I offer you this one chance, Targaryen. Surrender yourself to me now, and I’ll ensure you have a fair trial for your crimes.”

 

I was honestly a bit taken aback. “They warned me about you, but I honestly didn’t believe it was this bad.” I tapped Lucifer on the shoulder, and he snorted out a puff of flame. “I don’t believe you’re in any position to be demanding anything from me. If anything, you should be the one to surrender.”

 

“I do not fear you nor that giant lizard. I am Azor Ahai reborn, destined to destroy the Great Other, wielder of Lightbringer. I will not perish here.”

 

I eyed Melisandre. “You’ve done a brilliant job with him, Melisandre. He actually believes that.”

 

“How do you know me?”

 

“Our Lord reveals many things to me.” I drew Lightbringer, setting it aflame with a thought. The knights gasped and muttered, while Stannis turned white as milk. “It’s funny that you say you bear Lightbringer, Stannis. Last I checked, it was right here in my hands.”

 

“A trick, nothing more,” Melisandre spoke to Stannis, though she sounded uncertain.

 

I curled the flame up the sword to surround me in my Mithril armor and black doublet with the red three-headed dragon of my family’s crest emblazoned on it. The fire clung to me like a second skin, not harming or even singing a hair on my head.

 

“I am Azor Ahai, not you, Stannis. The Great Other is waiting to the North. Rather than wasting our time wagging our tongues and cocks trying to prove who’s better, we should be preparing to face him. If you have any sense or love for life as you know it, you’ll surrender to me and take what forces I give you to repel the first advance against the Wall instead of focusing on a stupid iron chair.”

 

Stannis looked in danger of fainting. Then he turned puce with anger and turned to Melisandre, slapping her across the face. “You lied to me!”

 

“I didn’t lie!” she cried out, tears in her eyes. She looked at me with wonder and regret. “I was wrong. I’m so sorry, my lord. I misread the prophecy, the glimpses in the flames. I am so, so sorry.”

 

Whether she spoke to me or to Stannis, I couldn’t tell. I withdrew the Fire, and sheathed my sword. “It’s done, Stannis. Lay down your arms or be turned to ash. The choice is yours. We have no time to waste.” I debated and then threw in a sweetener. “I’ll even cure your daughter’s greyscale, as a gesture of good faith.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

“Maybe to you. Not to me.”

 

“… Very well. Dragonstone is yours.” The words came out like he was spitting dung, but he said them. And if there’s one thing you could count on Stannis Baratheon to do, it was honor his word.

 

We settled into the castle, and true to my word I offered sweet little Shireen the Elixir. The sight of her unblemished skin and the word of Melisandre was enough to have Selyse Florent, her religious fanatic of a mother, eating from the palm of my hand. I met Davos Seaworth, a good and honest man, and took a moment to sit in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Stannis facing me, I nodded at the detailed map of Westeros and asked “Shall we begin?”

 

I informed him of my plans. Stannis would repair what damage his ships had taken, and then sail North with all his forces as well as a third of the Unsullied. They would make with all haste for Castle Black, to repel the wildling invasion and the Army of the Dead that chased them. Meanwhile, I would head for Duskendale with the rest of the Unsullied and ships. I would seize control of the town and then make my way to King’s Landing, where I’d meet up with Drogo’s khalasar and we could take the city.

 

Stannis raised an excellent question. “How do you plan to get those savages past the walls? Do you plan to repeat the Lannister plot? Have you a man on the inside?”

 

I grinned at him and fingered the Philosopher’s Stone. “Just trust me, Stannis. When I give the word, those gates will come a-tumbling down.”

 

Melisandre visited me in the night, of course. We had a long, drawn out, slow chat. And then I gave her some Elixir and Selenia and I fucked her brains out. I think the Braavosi woman got quite the kick out of being the red priestess to the real Azor Ahai and showing her counterpart the error of her ways.

 

Within a week, Duskendale was ours. Apparently, Renfred Rykker had no desire to suffer the same fate as the Darklyns. He surrendered to me after a brief blockade of the harbor and Lucifer giving a couple flyovers of the city and shooting off threatening bouts of flame. With King’s Landing still cleaning out the Blackwater Bay, I now had control of one of the most central ports on the east coast of Westeros.

 

I coordinated with Dany, and our force met up with Drogo’s khalasar two weeks later on the outskirts of King’s Landing. The city was on lockdown. Tywin seemed perfectly willing to wait us out while he coordinated forces from the West and South to come up behind us while we waited ineffectually outside the walls.

 

“They’re so confident we cannot get in, they’re even going forward with King Joffrey’s wedding. A way to celebrate the first day of the new century,” Daenerys explained to me, sitting on a bed of blankets. She was about ready to pop.

 

I grinned, and mentally started scheming. “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that. But trust me, sweet sister, they’ll remember the start of this century for a very different reason than some silly wedding.”

 

“What are you planning, Vis?”

 

“Something out of a storybook. Dragons are notorious for kidnapping royalty, aren’t they?”

 

Xxx

 

Lucifer dove down like a hawk snatching a fish. There was a blur of movement, a round of screams, and then the newly wedded King Joffrey and Queen Margaery were in his claws. Behind me, Elianna did the same with Cersei and Jaime Lannister.

 

As we flew to the Red Keep, I heard a high-pitched, panicky gibbering and squeaking… and the voice of a young woman.

 

“Hello? Can you hear me up there? Your dragon is ripping my wedding gown!”

 

“Apologies, Lady Tyrell!” I called down to her. “Unavoidable casualty of my little plan! How’s your dear husband?”

 

“He’s watering the rooftops of King’s Landing, is what he’s doing. By the Seven, he’s pathetic!”

 

“What did you call me? I’ll have your head!” came the cracking voice of a pubescent boy in panic.

 

“OH, SHUT UP!” Margaery and I yelled in unison. I officially liked her.

 

We hovered over the Red Keep, while I took a minute and used the Philosopher’s Stone to transmute all the air inside the castle into sleeping gas. When I was confident everyone had succumbed, I reversed the spell and then had Lucifer and Elianna land. Luckily, the central courtyard had been built with dragons in mind. Elianna turned and flew back to camp, while Lucifer made himself comfortable. Anyone fool enough to mess with him would end up charred briquets at best and still wiggling in his stomach acid at worst.

 

I formed collars out of Fire and effectively chained my four hostages. “Up and at them, people. This is a hostage situation, not a wedding feast. You’re all coming with me.”

 

“You will pay for this!” screeched Cersei. I tightened her collar in response. She got very, very quiet when the heat of the fire got close enough to leave her perfect skin pink.

 

“None of that, now. Just do as I say, and no one has to get hurt.” Has to? No. Will be? Who’s to say?

 

I went hunting through the castle to find Prince Tommen, whom hadn’t been allowed to leave the castle. Cersei’s paranoia was truly something, especially after the riot where she almost lost Joffrey. I led my five captives to the Throne Room, and I sat my ass down on the Iron Throne my great-great-etc. grandfather had forged from the swords of those he’d conquered. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but then a throne probably wasn’t meant to be. Aegon had been as wise as he’d been dramatic. Something I aspired to live up to.

 

I waited for a good half hour, during which time I endured the whimpers and whining of my hostages. Then, astride his steed, Tywin Lannister burst into the room.

 

I stood up and drew my sword. “One step closer and I start chopping heads.”

 

Tywin reared back his horse. He jumped to the floor, his eyes half-crazed. “What in the Seven Hells are you thinking, boy?”

 

I grinned. “I was thinking ‘why should I bother with a long, drawn out siege or bloody attack, when I can just negotiate from a position of power?’.” I gestured at his children and grandchildren arrayed in front of me. “This is going to be very simple. Bend the knee and give me my throne, they live. Refuse, and I will rip everything you love out of your life. Then I’ll kill you and take my throne anyway. It’s really up to you.”

 

“You’re mad as your father,” Tywin spat. “Whatever sorcery you used to kill the guard here, there’s an army following behind me. You can’t hope to survive.”

 

I sighed. “I do hate it when people don’t take me seriously.” Then, as simple as cutting a cord of wood, I removed Joffrey’s head.

 

Cersei’s wailing echoed throughout Maegor’s Holdfast. I could see the whites of Tywin’s eyes.

 

“That’s one. There. I’ve proven my resolve. Will yours hold, I wonder?” I gave a cruel grin. “I already dealt with Myrcella when I took Dorne. Oh, she was sweet before I slit her throat. If you only knew the kind of noises she made…”

 

“YOU BASTARD!” Jaime roared. “YOU RAPED MY DAUGHTER!”

 

Tywin reacted like he’d been shot in the crotch. “Daughter?”

 

“Ah, the truth comes out. I’d wondered if the rumors of incest were true. And now I have the truth from the sister-fucker’s lips. But that’s neither here nor there.” I waved my hand at my captives. “Which will be next, Tywin? Your last grandchild? The whore that is your daughter? Your disappointment of a son? I’ll save the girl carrying your great-grandchild for last.”

 

“Joffrey wouldn’t…” Tywin began.

 

“Well, there’s really no way to tell now, is there? Margaery is in no position to talk,” I said, gesturing at her collar. “Bend the knee or watch them die. I won’t ask again.”

 

The order came from the Red Keep. The seven gates of King’s Landing were opened. The Dothraki horde, Westerosi knights, and Unsullied walked through the city uncontested. When Daenerys waddled into the Throne Room, it was to find me wearing a crown shaped like a three-headed dragon, sitting on the Iron Throne, Lightbringer across my knees.

 

“It’s good to be King,” I said with a smile.

 

Xxx

 

**And there you go. Next chapter is the aftermath and finally making our way to the North. Wait patiently, please. I love you all!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Getting a crown was one thing. Keeping it is quite another. Let’s see how our protagonist handles this juggling act, eh?**

Xxx

 

If it weren’t for my [Sleep is for the Dead] Perk, I’m convinced I’d have collapsed from exhaustion within the first month of my reign. There was just so much to _do_. I had a populace to win over, criminals to execute, positions to fill, courtiers to appoint, alliances to secure, a city to clean up, an army to feed… it all seemed endless. Still, I knew what I’d signed up for. I wasn’t going to balk at the responsibilities of my birthright.

 

But I’d have appreciated it if it had all come at me just the tiniest bit slower.

 

The first twenty-four hours were crucial. The first thing I did was have Tywin, Cersei, and Jaime sent to separate sections of the Black Cells. Let them stew while I dealt with more important things. The second thing I did was have Littlefinger tracked down and brought before me. The man had started out trying to win me over when I had stuffed a truth serum down his throat. After all his crimes were recorded by a scribe, including orchestrating the War of Four Kings through the assassination of Jon Arryn, I cut his head off then and there. You don’t try to win a game against a master, you knock over the board and knock him out of the running. The third thing I did, in shameless pandering, was have the ridiculously huge wedding feast cooked up for Joffrey and Margaery (consisting of _seventy-seven_ courses, I kid you not) distributed to the people of King’s Landing. A little rich food to show off the generosity of their new ruler and as a ‘sorry’ for having the army come in. After the initial show of force, the Dothraki had returned outside to their camp, while the Unsullied and Westerosi knights were lodged in the Red Keep and the various inns of King’s Landing at my own expense.

 

And that was all before the sun went down.

 

I arranged for Pycelle to die in his sleep. A little Water magic to affect his blood flow and he fell victim to a perfectly believable heart attack. One Lannister spy taken care of, I immediately sent a raven to the Citadel requesting a new Grand Maester, heavily hinting that Marwyn the Mage was the preferred choice. It would be nice to have a man who didn’t scoff at magic working alongside me as my personal physician. And I’m sure I’d win his undying loyalty if I let him experiment with the Elixir of Life.

 

I arranged an audience with Grand Master Hallyne of the Alchemists’ Guild. I ordered that the city be searched for every barrel of the stuff my mad father had hidden in his bid to burn down the city, and all of the ‘substance’ be stored in a safe place outside the walls of the city. I wasn’t going to risk the capital burning down around me, and I was going to need the napalm for devastating the Army of the Dead. Once the orders were out of the way, I had a pleasant conversation with the wisdom. The old pyromancer knew a great many things about Fire that I hadn’t had time to experiment with or even think of. I offered him and his entire order pride of place in my Order of Mages, which he accepted.

 

Repairing the Dragonpit was done in a day with the Philosopher’s Stone. Lucifer and Elianna got a proper nest where their food would be cooked and brought up to them, and the smallfolk were made aware that their new king was magical. I managed to secure their love rather than their fear by walking through the city streets, using the Philosopher’s Stone to make all the shit and refuse disappear into thin air. By the time I was done, you could eat off the streets of Flea Bottom. Cleaning up centuries of caked-in dirt, excrement, vermin hair, and gods-only-know what else earned me the title of ‘Viserys the Purifier’. My magical janitorial sweep not only won me the gratitude and acceptance of the populace but made it so I could go through the city without pinching my nose. It was a win-win.

 

Invitations to my coronation were sent out by ravens to every House Paramount and minor house, barring those of the Iron Islands. I’d been explicitly clear with Jon that the time had come for that particular kingdom to disappear. The last thing I needed to be worrying about was a civilization off my west coast that actively encouraged piracy. The Iron Islands were to suffer the same fate as that blackened city Daenerys and I had passed on our journey to Vaes Dothrak. Let the Riverlands become the seventh Kingdom, I just wanted the Greyjoys and their populace neutralized. Jon, remembering the chaos of the Greyjoy Rebellion and the horrible attitude of Theon, was inclined to agree. Last we spoke, a few days after my little coup d’état, he’d been about to sack Pyke. I wished him success.

 

After cleaning out the Iron archipelago, Jon and Pyat Pree were meant to head inland to Torrhen’s Square and from there to Winterfell. They would gather what support they could from a disbelieving North on the new King’s orders and then travel to the Wall to aid Stannis and the Night’s Watch in securing the border. Meanwhile, the Qartheen fleet would circle back around Westeros to King’s Landing, where they would wait patiently to escort Drogo’s khalasar back to Essos and from there return to Qarth.

 

Speaking of Drogo, I almost lost him due to a little snag that somehow, in all the chaos, I hadn’t had the good sense to predict.

 

“You sit upon your iron chair, won with my help. Our exchange of gifts is settled. Now I plan to take my wife, sons, and herd back East, not to the North to fight an army of maegi.” Drogo’s face was carved from stone, he was so implacable.

 

Dany, standing next to him in the gown of electrum I’d given her as a bride gift, sighed. “I’m sorry, Vis. I keep trying to tell him that the Others will come for us eventually whether we’re in Essos or not, but his mind is made up.”

 

“No, no, he raises a good point,” I said, my mind racing. I looked down into the face of Visero, whom I was cradling. The fact that Drogo felt confident enough to reject me with his son in my arms spoke of the level of trust he had for me. Not that I would ever hurt my nephew, but still. My namesake was the polar opposite of Rhaego in coloring. He had Dothraki black hair and eyes but had the coloring and refined features of Old Valyria beneath his chubby cheeks. The two were like the sun and moon, and I was sure there would be some sort of mythos around that as they both grew into fearsome Dothraki warriors. Whether Visero would form his own khal or be bloodrider to Rhaego would be decided with time, far in the future in a time when the problems of today would be long solved.

 

“Tell me, Drogo, son of Bharbo… has any khalasar fought a White Walker?” I said, pulling stuff out my ass and hoping my stats would convert it into a winning speech. “Can any khal boast that he has ridden in the Land of Always Winter? Has any Dothraki even seen their city, their temples, their treasures and carried them back to Vaes Dothrak?”

 

Drogo narrowed his eyes. “… No.”

 

“I’m not asking you help me fight the Army of the Dead because they are a threat to you, or because I’m asking you as a brother. I’m asking you to cement yourself as the khal who traveled to _two_ lands never seen before. You will have not only have crossed the poison water, but the great Wall of the Andals into the place where the dead walk and creatures of ice rule. Your screamers will have trampled foes no other khal has ever seen or heard of, and never will again. And you will carry back to the dosh khaleen the relics of a civilization the world has long forgotten.” I smiled winningly. “What do you say?”

 

Praise be to 10 Charisma and 100 Speech, Drogo smiled. Glad to know that I hadn’t outfitted his khalasar with shiny new weapons for nothing.

 

Xxx

 

While my coronation was held off by the travel times of all the major lords, I was still the de facto king. Which meant two things: I needed a Kingsguard and a Small Council.

 

Ser Barristan, restored to his youth, and the officially pardoned Ser Jorah were already clad in white. Jorah found it the height and irony and amusement that he’d left a disgraced exile and had returned with one of the highest honors in the land. I’d warned him that he’d probably never see Dany again except for visits, and he’d girded himself and nodded anyway. He’d known their love was doomed. She was just so happy with Drogo.

 

The rest of my Kingsguard, I had a fair idea about. I inducted Ser Loras Tyrell straight away. He was a bit iffy since I’d kidnapped his sister and widowed her the same day, but Margaery’s own words and defense of my character convinced him to agree. Speaking of the lovely lady, we’d become fast friends. She forgave me for the part I’d forced her to play in blackmailing Tywin, recognizing it as the smart thing to do. In the chaos of being king, I made time to have audiences in her, where we talked about everything and nothing. I started to truly care for her. I think Loras was aware of our burgeoning relationship and was half the reason he agreed to join. He thought she was going to be my Queen and wanted to be around to look after his little sister. I understood the sentiment completely.

 

Thoros of Myr became the fourth member. All he needed was to hear the words ‘Azor Ahai’ and he was falling over himself to swear loyalty to me. Beric Dondarrion might have resented me stealing his red priest, but personally I think he was relieved. From what I remembered from the books, the guy was getting a little sick and tired of being constantly resurrected.

 

The other two took some hunting down. I proclaimed an official pardon for the crimes of Sandor Clegane and Brienne of Tarth, summoning them to King’s Landing for an audience. Brienne showed up, bound by her honor to answer my summons. She gave an impassioned plea that she was not guilty in the first place, which I agreed to. I informed her of Melisandre and her role in Renly’s assassination. I made her understand that the shadow-binder still had a role to play, but she would pay for her crime in time. Brienne, ruffled feathers soothed, almost swooned when I offered her a position in my Kingsguard. I told her I didn’t care she was a woman, merely that she was a competent fighter and a person of honor. She accepted straight away. Sandor needed to be tracked down and brought in, but he was found as well. I gave him a sip of Elixir and suddenly I owned him. The ability to look himself in the mirror was a priceless treasure he’d spend the rest of his life trying to repay.

 

The seventh member, I left up to the people. I declared a tourney, paid for with the unlimited amount of gold I was able to literally pull out of thin air. For the record, I had already paid off the Iron Bank of Braavos. I’d sent them five ships packed to the gills with gold dragons, printed with my likeness on one side, completely valid tender as far as anyone who didn’t know magic had a hand in their creation was concerned. The city prospered from the influx of visitors and their gold, and I won a little more of the public’s heart by coming up with a fun way to fill the last slot in my bodyguard. I allowed the dismissed members of Joffrey’s Kingsguard to participate. After a long day of feasting and jousting, Ser Balon Swann wound up winning, and he named Daenerys the Queen of Love and Beauty. That was good enough for me. I offered the man his white cloak back, and he accepted. Duty was all he’d known, and all he wanted to know.

 

That taken care of, I turned to the Small Council.

 

Doran Martell was shipped up and named Hand of the King. I truly trusted him. I had his undying loyalty from avenging his sister. Ser Gregor Clegane had been executed by yours truly in front of the Great Sept of Baelor, the truth of what he’d done to Elia and her children spewing from his drugged lips.

 

Oberyn and Ellaria invited me to dinner that night. If I hadn’t had so much practice topping Sezgin and Selenia, they might have overpowered me. As it was, I showed the Red Viper and his Viperess a thing or two about what a dragon could do in the bedroom. I also offered to legitimize Ellaria and their daughters, so they could get married. That won me a second night of fun.

 

Ser Barristan Selmy was my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, so he got his old seat back.

 

The Master of Coin, as promised, went to Illyrio Mopatis. He sailed in from Pentos as soon as he heard I had secured the throne. The court wagged their tongues at an Essosi merchant getting one of the highest honors in the land, but a promise was a promise. My Master of Whisperers, Varys, certainly appreciated his boyfriend joining him on the Small Council. Especially after a sip of Elixir gave Varys his cock back.

 

The again resolved to look into legalizing gay marriage. Would the High Septon and the entire Faith rebel if I proposed it, even with dragons to reinforce my rule? I’d have to do some research.

 

My Master of Laws went, surprise surprise, to Tyrion Lannister. I got to know the dwarf during my time in the capital, reassuring myself that he was the same good egg in person as he was in the series. Then I named him Lord of Casterly Rock, fed him some Elixir of Life, and asked if he’d also mind being the enforcer of the King’s Justice throughout the land. The newly six-foot man had fallen over himself saying yes.

 

Speaking of the Lannisters, Tyrion had Kevan sent back to be his castellan. The man was overwhelmed by his family’s change in fortune, but he’d bowed his head and agreed to the bidding of his nephew and new King. I had Tywin executed after confessing all his sins, same as Littlefinger and the Giant. Jaime was sent off along with every prisoner in the cells and half my Unsullied to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch. Cersei was sent to join the Silent Sisters on threat of execution otherwise for her conspiracy against Robert. She seemed shocked when I punished her for that. In the end, she loved life too much, and agreed. That left little Tommen as my guest in the castle, and Myrcella still safe down in Dorne.

 

True to my wishes, Marwyn was sent to be Grand Maester and representative of the Citadel. We had long, vibrant talks about the nature of magic, life, biology, and every other fascinating subject. He went nuts experimenting with Elixir and glow-of-the-dawn, trying to crack the mystery of magic through the scientific method. He settled right in.

 

As for my Master of Ships, I as waiting on Davos Seaworth to return South. Stannis should be pleased, even if it meant ‘losing’ a trusted servant, at a friend rising so high in life.

 

More on Stannis, I had given him an enchanted mirror and kept in contact with him and Melisandre. They had just arrived at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and were making their way along the Wall to Castle Black. I stressed to him that the wildlings had to be contained, but it was the Army of the Dead that was the real concern. I gave him the crucial assignment of capturing at least one wight and sending it South to King’s Landing. I’d need physical evidence of the walking dead to rally the Houses to commit their forces on a mad charge North.

 

For the most part, all the loose ends were tied up. Months passed in a blink, and before I knew it the day came where I was crowned in the Great Sept by the High Septon himself.

 

A great feast was held both in the Red Keep and throughout the city. I wasn’t going to have the Sparrows coming after me. Every time there was a shindig at the castle, there would be one in the city as well. I had no trouble hiring as many chefs as I wanted, with my golden touch. Plus, Lucifer and Elianna were still as much an attraction as they’d been in Qarth. The feast was held in the Throne Room, and there were entertainers, musicians, and dancing aplenty. I wanted the Red Keep to be filled with light and laughter at all times.

 

I met and conferred with all the major lords and ladies.

 

Daenerys and Drogo were in attendance and proved to be quite the source of gossip with their open affection. If they only knew. The two were being positively chaste by their usual standards. The presence of a Dothraki khal and khaleesi prompted many questions on the foreign culture. Dany, being the more patient and more fluent in Common, handled most of the questions. Drogo just enjoyed the free food and drink.

 

I met with Edmure of House Tully and Lord of Riverrun, giving him my word that his lands would be restored. I endured spending time with Walder Frey, whom had gotten off his wrinkly ass to attend. I seriously considered having Lucifer have an ‘accident’ at the Twins, but I held off. The Red Wedding hadn’t happened in this timeline, and never would. Though perhaps tonight would be the night age finally claimed the old sex addict.

 

Doran, Oberyn, and the other Martells were given seats of honor considering the role their House played in securing my reign. Arianne drunkenly asked me if she could see my cock to compare it to Jon’s. I resisted temptation and tucked her into her father’s side.

 

Lysa Arryn, Regent of the Vale since her son was currently tucked asleep in his guest room, was on her best behavior considering she was in mourning. Losing Littlefinger, rather than sending her over the edge, seemed to have robbed all the manic energy out of her. I didn’t discount the possibility that Littlefinger had been poisoning her to make her more malleable. I had a discussion with her about having Marwyn examine her son’s health and assuring her that he would be Warden of the East and Lord of the Vale when he came of age. I got a sad little smile from the mother for my troubles. Maybe a touch of Elixir would do the boy good. And hopefully a royal edict would be enough to stop with the damn breastfeeding at age 8.

 

I met with the minor lords of the Stormlands, Stannis absence keenly felt. I’d really have to get on him about getting around to popping out a son at some point. At this rate, I’d have to track down one of Robert’s bastards and legitimize him lest one of the Kingdoms’ House Paramount was left extinct.

 

The Reach involved meeting Olenna, who lived up to her title as the ‘Queen of Thorns’. She was a cantankerous old bitch, but she was sharp as a tack and knew how to play the game of thrones like a pro. I survived the encounter with all but my word that I’d marry Margaery when the time was right.

 

I made a point of checking in on Selenia and Sezgin. The two’s place in court was a bit in limbo. I’d finally settled on having them start a Temple to the Lord of Light and explaining to the court they were ‘close friends’ to explain their presence. I made no secret of Artemys’ parentage, and had by royal decree named her Artemys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. If anyone had an issue with me legitimizing my bastard daughter, Lucifer’s bulk looming in my shadow was enough to silence them.

 

Finally, I got to the man I’d wanted to speak to all night.

 

“Lord Eddard Stark,” I greeted with a nod. “I’m honestly surprised you showed up in person. After what happened last time, I half expected you to swear never to set foot in King’s Landing ever again.”

 

“I very nearly did,” came the gruff reply. Damn, the guy really did look like Sean Bean. “But I had to see the dragons for myself.”

 

“You could have waited until I came North. Jon explained to you the situation with the Others, yes?”

 

Ned bit his lip and shifted his weight, hiding a wince when it fell on his bum leg at a bad angle. “I hardly recognized my nephew when I saw him last. And the things that came out his mouth were… difficult to swallow. If I hadn’t seen you work your sorcery in broad daylight, I’d have long since discounted him.”

 

“The other Houses will be even more skeptical. That’s why Jon and Stannis are at the Wall instead of celebrating with us here. They need to get proof and send it back. Then we can gather ourselves and repel an invasion out of a nightmare.” I eyed his leg, and waved a hand over my goblet. “Care for a drink?”

 

“Is this the infamous Elixir I’ve heard so much about?”

 

“Try it and find out.”

 

With a touch of skepticism, the Warden of the North sipped the enchanted liquid. His eyes widened and he regarded his leg with awe. He’d have to wait until he got to a mirror (looking glass, sorry), but there were many less lines on his face as well. Hmm, would have to offer the same to Catelyn. Wouldn’t want them to be uneven. They were one of those couples that gave you faith in love, they should enjoy a second bout of youth together. Rickon would not be the last Stark of this generation, I’d bet.

 

The party was interrupted by the sound of a war horn.

 

I froze. That sound was full of magic. Like an earthquake felt from miles away, I sensed a great collapse in the distance, as if a structure so permanent I’d mistaken it for the border of the world had broken into pieces.

 

“What was that?” was one of the dozens of questions asked in the wake of that fateful sound.

 

I gave a burst of Fire to draw attention. “The Horn of Winter has been blown. The Wall is gone. We must prepare.”

 

Xxx

 

Turns out, even the word of a magic-wielding King is nothing if not backed up by cold, hard evidence. Despite my sincerest efforts, the Houses would not call their banners and prepare for the journey North. Not until multiple ravens came corroborating the fact. Even then, most saw the Wall as a glorified penal colony. Warm after a decade-long summer in the humid South, none believed in tales of the White Walkers.

 

I contacted Stannis within ten minutes of leaving the party. “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.”

 

“I’m afraid it was. Damn lucky that we were on the ground when it happened. The whole Wall is rubble. Ice and rock piled like mountainous hills. We’ll be digging out Castle Black for months.”

 

“Forget Castle Black. Consider this a royal mandate. Retreat South to Winterfell the instant you capture a wight. Send it ahead in a cage drawn by the fastest team of horses you can find. I need to rally the Kingdoms yesterday.”

 

“As you command, Viserys.”

 

I sensed frustration and no small amount of fear. “Know this, Stannis. If you die up there, then Storm’s End goes to Edric Storm. I’m sure you don’t want that.”

 

“… Understood.” Well, judging by the fire in his eyes, I’d found the magic words. He’d fight like a madman to keep his family’s ancestral seat of power out of the hands of a mere bastard.

 

After the call with him, I rang up Jon. “Jon Targaryen! Tell me you’re safe.”

 

“I am. I was on Winter when it happened.”

 

“Anything you can tell me?”

 

“It sounded… well, like it came from everywhere. But I could swear that it came from the North first. It couldn’t have been the wildlings. We have Mance Rayder and his entire army under arrest and held just outside the wall. Thanks for the Unsullied by the way, they were a gods-send.”

 

“No problem.” My mind raced. “Damn it, it must be Winter. They saw that we have a dragon and they decided that they weren’t going to play around. Look, get back to camp…”

 

I was interrupted by a scream of pain.

 

“WINTER!”

 

“JON!”

 

I watched with horror as the mirror tumbled and flashed between white earth and grey sky before shattering in my hands.

 

“Damn it all to hell!”

 

The scene where Viserion had been downed by a spear in the show flashed through my head.

 

“Please no,” I prayed. “I don’t care who’s listening. Just please don’t let me lose him.”

 

The next few weeks were torture. I tried to focus on kingly matters as much as I could, but every fiber of my being wanted to hop on Lucifer and fly North fast as the wind to check on Jon and see whether he was alive or dead, or worse than dead. I forced myself to work through some small, trivial matters. Implementing a sewer system and diverting water from nearby rivers to make public bathhouses. Restructuring the Goldcloaks and improving public security. Clearing the wreckage out of Blackwater Bay once and for all.

 

Finally, the day came when the cage arrived. The wight inside was years old. Black, corrupt flesh showed from the gash in its stomach that had disemboweled it. Its nose and quite a few fingers had fallen off from frostbite. All the same, it moved and bit and screamed like every zombie you ever saw.

 

I had every Lord and Lady look at it in my Throne Room before sending it off to the Citadel for study. “Do you believe me now?” I asked the silent room.

 

No one dared answer me. The rage was all but radiating off me. I might actually have raised the temperature a few degrees, my Fire was so close to the surface.

 

“Call the banners. I march North tomorrow with the Dothraki and Unsullied. You lot can follow behind us. We’ll gather at Winterfell.” I waited a beat. “What are you waiting for?!”

 

They scurried and fled.

 

“Vis,” Dany said, laying a hand on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to shake it off by my last thread of patience. “He’s alive.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“I can’t. But there’s no way of knowing. So until I’ve seen his body, I’ll go on believing he’s whole and well.”

 

“… Right. Right. No news is good news.” I cradled my head in my hands. “Please, gods above, let it be good news.”

 

**Xxx**

**Something inside of me says to cut if off there. So that’s what I’ll do. Apologies for the short length. The climax of the story should be next chapter, followed by whatever zany adventures I make up for Viserys to do in the post-game. Until the next update!**


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